#i think possibly because the guitar in the corner had slipped a little and bumped it

[aeide-thea]

sudden LOUD clatter in the night: nefret cat & i both jerk up in bed & stare at the door of my room & then at each other like '…so are you gonna check it out or'

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Leggiero (Chapter Three)

aIn collaboration with @bethanysnow

Small touches, looks, and wine-soaked daydreams lead to whispered conversations on balconies' edge. Put out cigarettes in the middle of the night. Let lips touch as palms do - eventually...

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word count | 7111

Tag list | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitermoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you@vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @dacey0eg @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @bidet-and-legolas @ginny-lily

***

The bus rumbled underneath Damiano as he turned around in his bunk, the humming of the vehicle drowning out the clatter and chatter of his bandmates in the background. His head was pounding, but less because of the little alcohol he had consumed the night before and more because of the thoughts that had kept him up all night. This morning, he had made sure to be up before Y/n would come around for her wake up call, got ready and then all but crawled into the bunk on his bus for more sleep. They would play a gig in the evening, but for now he was thankful for the 6-hour drive to Oslo with nothing to do.

He could almost feel himself drifting off, body tired out and mind exhausted, but instead all that he saw when he closed his eyes were scenes from last night.

The room was filled with laughter. Music and Vic’s singing, as Damiano let himself fall onto the bed next to Y/n. She looked gorgeous, hair down, relaxing, a champagne flute in her hand and a slight smile on her face. Even though he knew she’d be worrying about what Thomas was doing to the room and how she was going to get them out of bed the next morning. But mostly she was just gorgeous and he told her so.

His hand reached out before the contemplation of this action had been finished in his brain. The adrenaline from the first show of the tour had him flying, soaring, and there was nothing that could possibly bring him down. Her eyes showed surprise but she didn’t pull away as he put a strand of her hand behind her ear. The gesture was small but Damiano felt like he was on fire, briefly stroking the soft skin under his fingers before pulling back.

He found himself babbling about his hair, but he was much more interested in what she had to say. He wished she would talk about herself more often - so much of his personality was so out there, so much information about himself was literally out there, in magazines and interviews and photos, but she had her walls up, even when they were joking, even when she seemed to be talking freely.

“You’re getting more interesting with every second I’m around you, you know?” The words slipped out of his mouth so easily. She went over it just as easily. Did she not care? Did she not find him interesting? He had hoped for some sort of reply or reaction, but she just continued talking. Maybe she wasn’t interested in him… His brain only allowed the thought for a minute. No, he told himself, she simply was this way. Cool, calm, collected. He was sure he would be able to get her out of her shell further one of these days. He wasn’t going to stop trying.

Next thing he knew, she had thrust her phone into his hand, some picture of her from years ago. He didn’t care much about the outfit or the makeup or the questionable hair, it was her smile that drew him in. There was something carefree about it, something unabashedly confident, something she seemed to have lost since then. There was no way back for him he realised in that moment - it might as well have been this woman or no other ever again.

Next thing he knew, he was complimenting her again, calling her darling, but this time he didn’t have to wait long for a reaction. The drink that had been in her mouth just a second ago was now spluttered on her clothes and some of the bedding. He was about to ask her if she was alright, but she had jumped up from the bed, hands trying to hide her reddening face, and dashed to the bathroom.

Fuck, what happened?

“Damiano! What did you do to the poor girl!” Vic shouted in amusement from across the room. He simply waved it off. He wasn’t actually sure what he had done and it bothered him more than he would like to admit - especially in front of his bandmates. Maybe he had come on too strong, tried too hard, had made it awkward. His plan had been to pay her compliments - not scare her away with them. He would have to reconsider his course of action.

When she came back, it was only to say a quick goodnight, waving and leaving. She only spared him a brief glance, no smile or any reassurance that they were fine.

It had not stopped going through his mind. This morning, she had pretended like nothing had happened, but he knew she had been avoiding his gaze and her smiles didn’t seem quite as genuine as they did before. Damiano let out a low groan into his pillow. This was a mess and a half.

The curtain of his bunk was drawn back harshly, revealing Ethan’s face.

“Why would you scare me like that!” Damiano complained. “I could be jacking off in here!”

“Well, I want to assume you wouldn’t do that in a semi-public space such as this,” Ethan replied with contemplation on his face.

“What do you want anyway?”

“Victoria sent me and told me to tell you, I quote,” Ethan cleared his throat. “‘Stop moping, Damiano, it’s no fun'. So, there you go.”

Without another word, Ethan turned back around, leaving the curtain open, and walked back into the kitchenette of the bus. Out of the corner of his eye, Damiano could see him stealing a bit of fruit from the fruit bowl. He felt no motivation to join them.

***

“He alright?” Y/n whispered to Thomas, who was sitting close to her, guitar on his lap. He just shrugged. Ethan rejoined the group with an unreadable expression on his face, sitting down next to Victoria. Y/n shot him another concerned look, but he simply shrugged as well. She shook her head and got up from her spot, walking over to the counter to make breakfast for everyone. Getting out the waffle maker. Putting the Moka pot on the stove and filling it with water. Too early in the morning for rock and roll. In the background, she could hear the band discussing rehearsals and the show in Oslo.

As soon as the smell of food hit the three bandmates, they were all over Y/n, hovering around the little kitchenette, pushing and shoving each other to be first. Y/n looked at all of them in turn. Thomas was currently standing on the couch, raising his hand to smack an unsuspecting Vic who was looking the other way. A single raised brow from Y/n got him back down onto the ground.

“Hey! I’m older, I go first!” Victoria pushed Thomas back.

“Maybe, but it still took your mum nine months to think of a good joke,” Thomas retorted.

Ethan turned around, chuckling at his friends’ banter - but Y/n’s reaction was far more blatant. She started to laugh, a loud, almost cackle that the band had never heard before. Her smile easily reached her eyes and she gave a little applause at Thomas’ joke. “I- I;” she gasped in between laughs, “I know it’s not that funny but it just got me, sorry!” Finally managing to bite her tongue, she went back to serving breakfast.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/n saw Damiano leaning so far out of his bunk to find out where the sounds and the laughter were coming from. The driver though couldn’t have known it was a bad moment to go over a pothole. With a loud thud, Damiano crashed out from his bunk and onto the hard floor. Chili, excited at the prospect of being able to reach him, ran over to lick his face.

“Eh! Chili, hi. Vic! Come get your dog!” He groaned, picking up the golden fluff and sending it back to her owner. She trotted away happily, over towards Victoria, who was a giggling mess after seeing her friend’s fall. He rolled his eyes at her grin.

“You gonna come join us, sleepy boy? I made coffee,” Y/n said, still trying to keep the peace between everyone. Pouring coffee into a mug, she walked over to Damiano and bent down, handing him the beverage. “I don’t really care if you want to spend the entire day on the floor, but I think your fans might tonight. So come join the party, hm?” Her voice was soft and enticing. Damiano’s eyes sparkled at her invitation. But still, his face was burning red. He sighed and nodded.

Y/n stepped back, taking the cup after he had taken a long sip, and reached her hand out to him. With a swift movement, Damiano was back up on his feet, immediately losing his balance and crashing into Y/n’s shoulder. More blushing on his part. He had not been expecting this amount of strength from her. Not caring about his little bump into her, she dusted him off, picking some fuzz out of his hair, her hand so close to his face, yet so far. She handed him the coffee once again and gave him a smile, before going back to her little corner on the bus as everyone devoured their breakfast.

Damiano watched as she tidied up after everyone had finished, constantly making sure what was effectively their home during tour would stay homely. She always looked like she belonged, and he admired her for that. After one last wipe down of the counter, she quickly addressed everyone on the bus, asking if she was needed for anything else right now, and after a round of head-shaking from everyone, she grabbed her laptop and retired to a quiet corner on the bus. It was only when she briefly looked up to find his eyes and gave a slight smile that he realised he was still watching her every move. Embarrassing, he scolded himself.

Damiano started fumbling for his bag, grabbing a notebook and a pen. He had too many thoughts running around in his head, too many images and ideas about Y/n, and he felt like the only way to get rid of them was to write. Maybe he’d even be able to make something out of it. Anything would be better than staring and dreaming about her anyway.

***

Two more hours until Oslo. With a heavy sigh, Y/n pushed the laptop away from her, neck cracking as she finally moved her bones a little. Suddenly, a pair of hands came down onto her shoulders. She only flinched for a moment before she realised it was Damiano, slowly starting to massage her tense flesh. Her head fell forward and she waved her hand to have him keep going. His fingertips digging into hours of uni work, work work, other work. Tension all living in her neck being slowly worked away by the singer.

"I'm not gonna turn down a free massage," she chuckled, feeling his talented fingers remove knot after knot. Then, suddenly, they became softer. She could hear Thomas in the background shouting something at Damiano. Taking his attention away from her, and all it left was soft fingertips on the sensitive skin on her neck. Dancing along and leaving goosebumps in their wake without him even knowing what he was doing to her. She shivered under such a light touch. A groan left her lips as she was falling deeper under his spell. At this point, she didn’t care. A very pretty man was smoothing his hands over her neck and shoulders and it was nothing short of lovely. Normally this wouldn’t be on Y/n's top list of things she would allow - but a 6-hour bus ride and sitting in one place for most of it was a killer.

I could fall asleep like this - fuck…

She was snapped back to reality when she realised that Damiano was once again staring at her screen, asking what she was working on, hands never moving from their position. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to concentrate like this.

“Oh, I’ve, um,” she awkwardly fumbled with the laptop, “I’ve been trying to memorise this sonnet. I’m doing a course on Shakespeare this semester and we’ve been told to pick our favourite by him and I think I finally decided on mine. It’s Sonnet 128 - um. One of the only sonnets to give you an actual scene in place. It’s from the perspective of this guy watching a bard and just craving to be touched, used, kissed by this person. To have the same sort of attentive mastery be directed at him instead of the player’s instrument. Describing the person listening to this bard play… Wait, would you just like me to read it to you?” Y/n looked up at Damiano. He nodded as he slid into the seat beside her. She moved the laptop so she could see its screen still and began to speak.

***

Sitting next to her wasn’t as bad as Damiano thought. After working on her neck and shoulders, her perfume had rubbed off onto his skin. Light and warm, not super floral, but he didn’t peg Y/n to be a flower kind of woman anyway. Looking at her face now, he noticed things he hadn’t seen before. Faint freckles, little lines around her eyes, the pink tint on her lips. Her hair was done up again in a bun. He could see a couple of bobby pins trying to hide in her wild hair. Then she started to recite the piece and his chest was exploding. He felt as if he was watching winter melt away and spring come.

“How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st”

Oh, what he would do to be her muse, Damiano thought. Her voice, low and soft, was like music itself to him, never mind the way her eyes lit up at the words she repeated from the screen. A little light inside of her, one he hadn’t encountered before.

“Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway’st”

Her fingers were just as sweet, his mind piped up as he tried to listen to her more closely. Some light polish on her nails that he hadn’t noticed before, but now that she was scrolling through the laptop, it was like he couldn’t keep his eyes off them. Quickly exploring images of them tangled in his hair, scratching down his back ever so slightly. Stop, he told in his own head in vain. Just stop and listen, for once. Yet the ideas of her he had hidden away kept demanding attention.

“The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,

Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,”

He tried so hard to concentrate. To listen, to take in the words she was reciting, to grasp their meaning and what they meant to her, but it was hard, getting harder. In an uncalculated move on his part, his arm swung around her shoulders, not pulling her closer, just letting her know he was there, right now, right here, with her. His hand resting on her upper arms, feeling the warmth underneath the fabric of her blouse.

“Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,

At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand!”

His eyes travelled up from her fingers, over her soft and curvy figure, her delicate neck, to her blushing face. She was blushing an awful lot with him and he had not yet figured out completely if this was a good sign or not. Either way, he thought she looked adorable, a natural pink on her cheeks. Slightly restless eye movements that didn’t match up to the words she was reading, a certain nervousness overtaking her. He wanted to make her blush like that for the rest of his life if he could. He silently wondered if she would blush that much if… if it was just the two of them, alone in some random hotel room, a whole world of exploration before them.

“To be so tickled, they would change their state

And situation with those dancing chips,

O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,

Making dead wood more blest than living lips.”

His eyes betrayed him, flicking down to her lips as soon as she said the word. Soft, a light tint on them, pronouncing every syllable in the most mindful way. He wondered if she would let him kiss her. What. His brain flickered between two emotions. Yes, yes, yes. He would give everything to feel her sweet mouth on his, getting her close, inhaling her scent, pouring his every thought into a kiss. No. What was he thinking? She was their assistant. Strong, gorgeous, fiercely independent, and surely not interested. Right? He couldn’t help wondering. Would she let him kiss her? Would she want him to? Had she thought about it, the way he was right now?

“Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,

Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.”

Their eyes met and Damiano hadn’t even noticed how much closer he had edged towards her. It would only take a little bit, one more breather, a tiny motion, to put his lips on her, to feel what she was feeling, and the way she looked at him had him craving, obsessing and he almost dared himself to do it, when a voice pulled him out of his thoughts, pulled him away from her.

“Y/N! I don’t understand how the waffle maker works!”

Damiano had never wanted to kill his bandmate more than at that moment. With a groan he turned around, seeing Thomas fumble with the appliances in their little kitchen area, a dumbstruck look on his face, and puppy dog eyes pleading Y/n for help. She only gave a low chuckle, before getting up and walking over to the guitarist, leaving Damiano with a head full of thoughts that all circled around her.

***

That was close, Jesus Christ! My face is so warm… how are his eyes that pretty? How have I never noticed that before? I wonder if he was thinking about the same thing as I was back there…

***

The crowd was roaring out by the main stage. Crew held their places waiting for the queue to go. The band stood off stage trying to sneak a peek at the audience. Hundreds more people than they were expecting. Y/n sat in a metal chair that was dubbed ‘her chair’ so she could watch the performance from behind the main curtain to cheer the band on without being seen. The lights in the main room were being lowered, the playlist that had been on in the background slowly being turned off, as the noise of the audience got impossibly louder. The band was getting nervous now, the good kind of nervous. Thomas jumping around to get his energy levels up before they would get the sign to get on stage. Y/n smiled at them in turn, returning a little wave Ethan was giving her. Just as they were given the go-ahead, and all of them started to jog on stage, Damiano took a little detour, sending her a smile that would set all the butterflies free in her stomach, before pressing a little kiss to her forehead. He was gone before she had a chance to react. Yet, she froze. Damiano looked back and it was the most perplexed, confused, and adorable expression he had ever seen on her.

It was an expression Damiano couldn’t get out of his head for the rest of the concert, even long after she had lost it - and he knew she had because he couldn’t keep himself from looking over at her every now and again. He was fascinated by the way she watched them.

And if she was watching? Well, then he was going to put on a show.

He pulled all the tricks he knew - well those that were fitted to the situation and venue. During one of their songs, he decided to pull his favourite one. With a low grunt, he ripped his shirt apart, throwing it across the stage, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Until he looked over to where his top had landed and his eyes fell onto Y/n, standing beside the stage, now with a performance-rich torn tank top on her face. Maybe his aim had been a little off. The look on her face as she removed the fabric made him laugh. At least she isn’t hiding now, he thought, before going back to the song.

During “You need me, I don’t need you”, one of the covers they had chosen for the night, he couldn’t fight the grin, knowing his favourite lyric of the night was coming up.

“Melody music maker, reading all the papers, they say I’m up and coming like I’m fucking in an elevator.”

Where Damiano would usually take the chance to suggestively hump the mic stand and focus on the audience, this time he did it while looking straight at Y/n. Her face clouded red, eyes looking at him with a flustered glare. He simply winked at her.

Similar things kept happening throughout the night, any song to do with sex or romance, any innuendo, it was all directed at her. To him, it was all about her all the time, and he made sure to let her know.

***

After one last encore, the band left the stage, the sound of the crowd chanting their names in the background. Once backstage, they all exchanged hugs, all pumped up from the adrenaline and the successful show. A massive gift basket sat in the corner, filled with beers, chocolates, some skincare products, and flowers, along with a note from the venue welcoming them to Oslo and thanking them for playing. Vic immediately grabbed Y/n.

“When we get back to the hotel - up for a girl’s night?” Wriggling her eyebrows at the assistant, she picked out some of the products from the red tulle in the basket.

“As if I could say no to you.”

***

“Okay, what’s first, face mask or red wine?” Victoria asked, holding up both items in her hands as she followed Y/n into the hotel room, Chili yapping at both of their feet, dying to get attention from anyone.

“I will pour the wine if you open the face mask stuff,” Y/n decided, picking up Chili for some snuggles, before putting the dog down on the bed and grabbing the wine glasses. “Don’t have a girls' night often, so this is nice.”

“I keep having them with the boys but it’s not really the same,” Vic laughed. “They never want me to pluck their eyebrows or anything! Oh, and please be careful with the wine around Chili, I drenched her once and it didn’t come out of her fur for ages.”

“You - you did what now? Wait, nope, I don’t wanna know. But to be honest, I would kill to get Ethan on my lap with some tweezers in my hand. Boy, does he need it. Not by much, sweet guy. Just, uh, you know?” Within a moment or two wine was being poured and handed to the blonde. “I didn’t know how much you would want but we can always add more,” Y/n stated, hopping onto the bed next to Vic.

“Oh, very sweet guy with unpredictable hair, really!” Vic said, grabbing the glass and downing more than half of it in one go already, before sitting down next to Y/n with the little pot she had opened and a little applicator for the cream. “That’s so fancy, I usually just slap it on my face with my fingers.”

“Same! Thinking we’re posh fucks, aren’t they?” Y/n grinned, looking at the tiny skincare items, another sip of wine. Chili curled up between the two women. “You looked like you had fun at the concert.”

“It’s so good to be back on the road and I feel like we’ve really found ourselves as a band now. We’ve only played two shows but it’s already my favourite tour. I’m convinced it’s because you’re here, too, by the way, you really fit in with us,” Victoria smiled at her, sipping from the glass, then putting it away on the nightstand and motioning for Y/n to do the same. “Come here, I’m gonna do your face.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that. You guys have been absolutely killing it. You got here by your own accomplishments and will, that’s hard to do. I am far more surprised at how well I’ve been able to fit in with you all. I’m, uh, as you can see,” putting the glass away, she scooted to face Victoria, “not as… ‘rock and roll’ and I would have assumed you’d want your assistant to be. But glad I got stuck with you though.”

“Oh, shush,” Vic said, sternly, as she began applying the cream to Y/n’s face. “You fit in just fine. Firstly, I think we definitely need someone to keep us grounded a bit sometimes and secondly, I am absolutely convinced there’s a lot more rock and roll in you than you think - you just wait until you’ve been exposed to us for longer, you’ll see!”

“Well, I agree with the grounded part. You realise that today during breakfast Thomas was climbing on the sofa about to smack your head just to get further in line? That boy does not stop.” She relaxed into Vic’s touch, silently deciding that girls' nights needed to be a more regular thing. This was great. “Ethan said something similar - something about ‘head banging right along with everyone else’. You all have it out for me don’t you?!” She asked, putting on an overly dramatic, surprised look.

“No, he didn’t!” She exclaimed, astounded. “I’m gonna get him back for that tomorrow. Anyway, Ethan was right, you won’t be able to resist our bad influence forever, Y/n! So, have you been to gigs before taking this job, or is this still something new to you?”

“I have been to gigs before, but they were more music festivals, and I was never one for EDM or anything. The heat and lots of glittery, sweaty people drunk on warm beer? No, thank you. Or they would get a new assistant for a tour and the job would end. Not in a bad way, it's just how it is as an assistant. You do your job until they don’t need you anymore.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s the wine or you, but I don’t think I’ve talked this much about myself really since I started this job. Not this particular job, mind you, but the whole P.A. thing.” Y/n chuckled, pulling her hair back into a tighter ponytail to keep out of the way of the fancy skincare.

“Hm, now I just keep thinking of putting glitter on you and getting you in the middle of a good punk gig one of these days,” Vic giggled as she finished up Y/n’s facemask, motioning for her to return the favour. “Let’s make the most of this wine then, I’m going to pour you another glass and you tell me a bit more about yourself.”

Grabbing the little pot of face mask, Y/n gently held Vic’s face, slowly applying the cream. “I’m going to be an alcoholic by the end of the tour, aren’t I? Um, well, I had a boyfriend, he was a prick, we broke up. My best friend lives in London in our old flat. My favourite films are old Hollywood romances. ‘Singing in the rain’, stuff like that. I dunno really. I’m just Y/n. Though I was thinking we should find a way to line Damiano’s trousers so that if they - when they rip apart, you see the lining and not the man’s underwear. Not that I think he cares, actually.” She truly was unable to turn work off completely, even on a night off.

Victoria couldn’t contain the giggle, receiving a scolding look from Y/n, who almost put the cream in her hair by mistake. “Thinking about Damiano’s underwear a lot, huh? Can’t blame you, that man is as pretty as they come. You can be happy they’ve all not gotten to the point where they just hang out on the tour bus in just their boxer shorts, but believe me, that day will come sooner or later!”

“I have not!” She insisted as her face betrayed her, telling a completely different story. “That is unprofessional and objectifying. I hope it doesn’t happen at all. You saw my face before when you all decided to ‘put on a little show’ in the dressing room.” She took the glass from Vic to take a sip. “Anyway.” She started blending out the face mask with fingers, careful not to get it into Victoria’s hair. “Would there be anything you want to know? I am never good at talking about myself.”

Chili nuzzled into Victoria’s leg, getting more needy. “I don’t want to cross any boundaries here, but honestly - why do you work so hard? I’ve only known you for like three days but you never seem to relax, you’re always either busy working for us or working on your projects and when you have a minute to breathe you end up cleaning after us or just going above and beyond taking care of us. I’m not complaining,” she held her hands up, laughing. “It’s great, but it’s a lot, huh?”

“Um… I can’t lie. Not to you or the band. Lying isn’t good for you anyway. But.. I don’t know. Lots of stuff happened before I moved to Italy. Lots of not-so-good stuff. So, I had a lot of reserved pent-up energy, still do. So I had to find ways to put it into things. Now I put it into my work because it’s my new dream. I put it into the band because I care about you. I want to see this tour do well…” Y/n stopped for a moment, caught off guard by the question, looking back and forth between Victoria and her own reflection in the wine. “I want to prove to myself that I can achieve and be successful. I am also a giant workaholic, though, like it’s bad,” she giggled, as Chili now put a paw on Vic’s thigh, demanding attention.

“Well, if you gotta do that whole workaholic thing, I’m glad you’re doing it for us,” Vic smiled, placing a soft hand on Y/n’s arm. “Just make sure to make some time to let loose every now and again. I’m sure any of us would be happy to help you with that.” She turned on her phone to check the time. “I should probably get this mask off now, give me a second,” she explained before getting up and skipping to the bathroom sink.

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Y/n said, also taking note of the time. “Doesn’t Chili need to go out now? There’s no grass on the balcony or I’d let her do her business here.” She stood up, placing the wine glasses on a little counter, trying to force the cork back into the bottle. “Thank you for tonight though, we should make it a thing.”

“Yeah, I’ll take her out for her evening walk now.” Victoria came back, hair slightly damp from where she had washed her face too hastily. “But let’s definitely do this again, next to Ethan you’re like the most calming person on this tour to hang out with.” She moved to give her a hug, only to realise Y/n still had the mask on, so instead, she opted for an awkward shoulder rub and a giggle. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You do realise it is my job to follow you around and see you tomorrow? Like, that is what I am paid to do. But hell, I’d still do it if it wasn’t my job,” she smiled, nudging Vic’s shoulder. “Now go get Chili out and then get some sleep yeah? Important things like sleep, food, water, everything you people seem to keep forgetting about!”

“Well, that’s what we have you for now, don’t we?” Victoria laughed, picking up a whining Chili and already halfway out the door. “But you get some sleep too! No working through the night, I am ordering you to bed - as your boss!”

“Of course!” Y/n laughed, shutting the door behind the bassist. After taking off her mask, she put the rest of Vic’s leftover wine into her glass and went out onto the balcony with her laptop. Pulling out all the bobby pins and the hair tie, she ran her fingers through her hair, brushing out the knots and letting it hang loose. The light from the sunset had long been gone by the time they had gotten to the hotel. Only street lights and the blue screen were illuminating the space of the balcony. The outdoor space was large enough for a table and chairs. The street down below was faintly noisy as people and cars passed by, but not enough to disturb her peace and quiet.

***

So much for an early night, Damiano thought, staring at the screen of his phone, as Ethan slept soundly in the next bed. With a sigh, he kicked the blanket off his legs, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, and sneaking out onto the balcony without waking his bandmate. Maybe a smoke would help. His eyes drifted from the rather unspectacular view out front to where he noticed movement to his right, only to see Y/n on her own balcony, right next to his.

Y/n was relaxing in her chair, glass of wine in her hands, mouthing the words to something on the computer in front of her. Entirely focused on whatever she was working on, she didn’t notice Damiano’s door opening and closing. She took a drink of her wine, leaving a dark red stain on her lips, then stood up to face the street. Laptop on her arm and looking outward, she mumbled the words on the screen to herself. He just about managed to make out what she was saying.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with brief- Wait, no. Grief. Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Who is already sick and pale with grief. Stupid tiny font is gonna be de death of me,” she mumbled, trying to zoom into the text.

Damiano watched her, a chuckle on his lips, both amused and amazed at seeing her play out the scene on her own. With a quick flick of his lighter, he turned to his cigarette, taking a drag, wide awake. The low light of the moon was illuminating her figure and her hazy movements and for a while he allowed himself to simply be fascinated by her. By the way she moved. Performing fully committed to the open air. Then she made a particularly dramatic, sweeping gesture in her monologue and he knew he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Hey there, Juliet.”

The surprise went through her like an electric shock, she was stumbling over nothing, almost dropping the laptop from her arms, as she turned around towards him so fast, he was sure her hair was going to give her whiplash.

“Ah fuck - Damiano?!” She gasped delicately into the night. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days!”

Hopefully, for very different reasons, he thought to himself.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly replied. “What are you doing? It’s almost 2 am.”

“You know I could very well ask you the same thing.” She looked at him accusingly. “If you didn’t have the day off tomorrow I’d be ordering you back to bed immediately.”

Damiano briefly considered a suggestive comment, but instead, let the cigarette between his lips keep him quiet. Y/n was putting her laptop away now, sinking back down into the lounge chair as he walked over to the edge of his own balcony, leaning over the railing to get a better look at her.

“You know I’ve not forgiven you for your antics at the concert tonight yet,” she suddenly stated, pulling him from his thoughts. The smirk flashed over his face naturally. He wondered if she was blushing again, but the little light the moon and her laptop screen gave off didn’t tell him anything. He was hoping she was.

“I promise I didn’t mean to hit your face with my top,” he laughed.

“But you obviously did mean everything else you did!” An accusing finger was pointed his way. “I did not appreciate that.”

For a second he flinched, wondering if he had gone too far, crossing a boundary. But then she looked back at him with a smile she was obviously trying to push away, unsuccessfully. Glass of wine in her hand, she sauntered over to him, while he put out his cigarette on the railing. She leant over her own railing, mirroring his movements. At a slow pace, like she knew he was watching, she sipped from her glass. His eyes falling to the way her neck was exposed as she threw her head back, tracing the soft skin with his glances until she set down the drink. There was a droplet of red wine on her lip and he wished their balconies were closer together, fantasising about reaching out and wiping it away, feeling just how soft she would be under his touch.

“Not that… I didn’t like it.” She paused. “Also not the first time I’ve been hit in the face with a shirt. So there’s that.” Y/n laughed.

“Now you’ve got me curious - who else would hit you with a shirt? Are you trying to tell me you’ve been to strip clubs?” Damiano laughed. Teasing her came easy to him.

“Dancers. With aim as terrible as yours, Mr. David. And I don’t know if you want the answer to the second question,” she smirked. When they were alone like this, she seemed more at ease. That, or it was the wine. He didn’t know.

“Dancers, huh? Think you could teach me a thing or two? Or, you know, were you just watching, lusting over sexy men?”

“Ah! I would do nothing of the sort. Most of the guys there weren’t into girls anyway. Wouldn’t do me much good… Damiano, I could teach a lot of things. You to dance? God help us all.” She made a dramatic cross across her body, laughter twinkling in her eyes.

“Now, Y/n, I’d let you teach me whatever you wanted,” he winked. “Preferably something… active, hm?” He could keep from laughing as he saw her unimpressed face, staring him down and shaking her head. He’d rile her up for the rest of his life if she gave him the chance.

“I once met this Italian guy, came to the studio. Thought he was God’s gift to dance. But you Italians all have that, bravado, confidence, whatever you wanna call it. Well, after learning the first intermediate step, he fell flat on his face and went back to beginner lessons. You gonna be like that?” Raising a brow at him, she leant further over the railing on her side.

Damiano puffed up his chest, comically, trying to make himself appear bigger in a useless attempt to impress her. “Now, you’ve obviously not met the right Italians yet, amore mio. Sounds to me like you need a real Italian to show you the way.”

Just like this morning, she burst out laughing, letting out cackles that filled the air with joy. “Sorry - not laughing at you. Just thought what you said was funny.” She looked down, and as dark as it was, he could see the same signs he had seen before. Shy expression, holding herself close to her body. The slight panic of not knowing what to say. “You’re real Italian, alright. You seem to always know what to say. Now is that an Italian thing or a Damiano thing?” She asked, sarcastically, to deflect the fact that her face was heating up.

Amore mio…that's what did it. He felt like he was unlocking a single puzzle piece at a time, slowly putting her together and making sense of her. He couldn’t wait to get the whole picture one of these days. “Maybe it’s a you thing,” he simply said. The night was making him strangely comfortable with being honest. “Maybe you just bring it out in me.”

“Eh - I’ve been told I bring out a lot of things, never a savant before.” She was still looking down, at her hands, starting to pick at her nail polish. Some little nervous tick that he hadn’t caught onto till now. “It’s late, you should go to sleep, Dami. I am sure that bed is missing its handsome owner right about now.” She started to look far away, picking up the wine glass and taking the last sip.

He had barely heard what she had said - too focused on her calling him Dami, for the very first time. It was like a little shudder running through him, knowing she was growing closer to him as the time passed. “Are you okay, though? I’m sure my bed will survive without me a little bit longer.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me, I worry enough as it is. Tomorrow is a day off, so I won’t be waking you up in the morning, bus call isn’t until later. Um, but I will be getting breakfast. Is there anything you would want?”

“As long as it involves coffee, I’m happy. I’m sure you’ll pick out the perfect thing anyway.” Damiano watched as she nodded, moving towards the balcony doors and away from him. He felt like grabbing her just to keep her there. He straightened up as well, just barely backing away from the railing. As she left he looked at the space she once occupied, feeling like he could almost make out the outline of her body where it once had been.

Amore mio...

[marlahey]

under the same roof part three: all the time you need

a harry styles rpf part three of six written by annie and aj (marlahey and formerly harryonstage) ratings/warnings: disaster gays, endangered ovaries from dad!harry, women aggressively supporting women notes: enter the rest of harry’s family unit! in case anyone’s curious, annie tells sylvia to give her dad a kiss in vietnamese, to which he responds, good girl. before anyone comes for me, there will be plenty more opportunities for bed-sharing to come. side note: aj always pictured olivia coleman as officer warren.  masterlist | part one | part two | part four (21.12.20)

............................................... • saturday, 5th january 9:18 am • The second time you’re roused from sleep, sunlight illuminates Harry’s room. You lift your head, squinting, but more quickly you recognize where you are.

Harry is nowhere in sight, but a fresh glass of water is within reach on the nightstand, and a cardigan knitted with primary-colored patches lies folded at the foot of the bed. After slipping your arms through the loose sleeves, you take a few gulps of water and make sure to shut his bedroom door quietly on your way out. You hadn’t spent much time in the living room as per Officer Warren’s instructions to avoid the windows, but you can see into it from the hall. And since there’s still no sign of Harry, you take a minute to discreetly look around at the place he and his daughter call home. His flat is obviously larger than yours—he has two bedrooms versus one—but the morning light seems to stretch the space even further, like an open armed welcome. The atmosphere bustles with a little dose of chaos. Two brimming bookshelves span one wall of the living room, and plants line the windowsills. A half-sized Christmas tree stands off in the corner, wrapped in twinkly lights and strings of popcorn. A white fender guitar decorated with various stickers stands with a speaker beside the couch, and records tile the wall behind it: Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, The Stones, The Cars, Hello I’m Dolly.  There is ample evidence that a child lives here, too. The walls are dotted with drawings in watercolor, crayon, and sparkles. You can see pieces of Lego strewn out on the carpet; they must be from that towering box Harry had towed into the lift a week before Christmas. A small smile tugs at your lips as you follow the smell of espresso into the kitchen. You find Harry leaning against the counter looking contemplative, holding aloft a cup of coffee that he seems to have forgotten about. He’s wearing the same shirt he’d slept in, but thrown on a pair of joggers. You bid a quiet, “Good morning.” He inhales sharply as his head whips toward you, his drink sloshing over the edge of his mug slightly. “Jesus, sorry,” he laughs softly, shaking his head at himself. You watch as he wets a dishrag and cleans the small mess. “Not really used to company my age.” “Oh… Sorry.” “S’alright.” His voice is covered in sleep; it almost sounds like he has a cold. “Coffee?” You hum appreciatively. “Love some.” “Were you able to get some sleep?” he asks, pulling a mug from the cabinet. “Enough, yeah.” All you can think about is waking up locked in his embrace, on the still-dark cusp of sunrise. “Thank you for letting me, um…” “Course. Cream?” “That’s great, thanks.” Harry nods over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “It help at all?” How are you supposed to answer that? “The real bed?” he clarifies, like it is at all necessary.  You listen to the spoon clink rhythmically against the ceramic, and settle on “I think so,” as noncommittally as possible. “How did you sleep?” “Very well.” In passing you your mug, Harry catches your eyes for the first time today in a way that feels like not an accident. “More importantly, how are you feeling about everything else?” You shrug, eyes glued to the cream swirling in your coffee. “Better, a little.” “That’s good.” “What about you?” you ask. “You’ve kinda been through the wringer, yourself.” “I’m good, yeah.” Harry pushes up his glasses. “I was thinking—if you don’t mind—I’d like to come with you to the police department this morning.”  “No, no, Harry.” You wave away the offer. “Don’t worry about that.” “No, really. It might make more sense. I saw him in the hall last night, and I was with you in the lift. They might need to ask some questions of both of us.” You consider this a moment. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” “I don’t have to,” Harry counters. “I want to. I want you to, y’know… ” he trails off. “I want them to get this guy.” You blink at him. There’s a strange feeling in knowing that Harry has clearly thought about your wellbeing beyond the night that you’ve effectively been trapped in his flat. Regardless, it’s too early for a battle of wills, and he has a point. You slouch against the fridge. “Alright. Well… I still have India’s car so I can drive us,” you concede. A smile lights Harry’s face. Suddenly your stomach rumbles so powerfully and for so long that it interrupts the conversation. You cover a small, mortified laugh with both hands as Harry’s eyebrows raise. “Well,” he begins, exaggerated. “Let’s take care of that… You take the first turn in the bathroom, I’ll fix us some breakfast.” “You sure?” “Go ahead.” He grabs a skillet from the drying rack, turning on one of the burners. “Thank you, Harry.” “It’s no problem.” You wash your face with something you find above the sink and brush your teeth on auto-pilot before considering your bundle of clothes from the night before. Your cardigan lays at the top of the stack. Four of your fingers fit through the gaping hole in its collar, and dirt covers one of the sleeves. You hadn’t forgotten about the shape it was in last night, but you didn’t consider it a problem until now, as you hold it up in front of you by the shoulders, frowning. You try to tame your hair with a purple, sparkly brush to no avail, so you take a quick look around to see if Sylvia has any spare barrettes or pins. Thankfully there’s a single hair tie floating in the bottom of your purse. You shrug back into Harry’s patchwork sweater—oddly comforting in how fully it swallows your shoulders and hands—and slip back out to the kitchen, where Harry plates grilled tomatoes and bacon. “We’re about ready to eat.” Harry turns the stovetop down to a simmer as the toaster pops. “How do you take your eggs?” “Sunny side up, please.”  He salutes you with his spatula, attention already returned to the pan.  “Can I help with anything?” Harry nods to a drawer. “Yeah can you pass us a couple napkins from just there? I’ll be right back,” he rushes, already halfway out of the kitchen. You pull a few paper napkins from their packet as he returns with two chairs that you recognize from his small wicker table. “Blinds are open in the other room, thought it might be best if we just eat in here.” He sets the chairs apart, facing one another. “Now this is living,” you deadpan. Harry laughs lightly as he gestures for you to sit. The two of you get adjusted with your plates on your lap, and your knees almost bump in the small space. “This is great, Harry. Thank you.”  “I’d make you bubble and squeak, too, but we’re fresh out and Sylvia hates beans so we don’t keep them on hand. So technically...” Harry lowers his voice to a whisper. “S’not a full English fry up.” You can only smile around your mouthful, unexpectedly endeared. The rest of breakfast passes in silence. You shouldn’t have slept on an empty stomach; you’re ravenous from skipping a meal last night.  He looks up at you eventually, a touch more serious than before. “Shall we think about heading to the police station soon?”  You dab your mouth with your napkin and nod. Harry stands from his chair and reaches an open hand down to you for your plate. “No, no,” you nudge him away with your elbow. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”  “Let me deal with these. You’re a guest.” “I’m a captive.” “No you’re not! You’re—” He breaks off, hesitating a moment before plunging on with an amused slant to his lips. “You’re my sort-of friend.” Your assumption he hadn’t overheard that comment to your mother last night on the phone was clearly in vain. You press your lips together against any inadvertent reaction. Your head swivels toward him, eyes full of lighthearted reproach. “Look, just let me do the dishes to give myself the illusion that I’m not just a freeloader here. Besides, I’m already ready to go.” "Fine,” he caves disapprovingly. “I’ll get myself sorted and be out in a minute.” “Take your time.” While Harry is preoccupied, you finish slotting the clean plates from breakfast carefully into the drying rack and pull out your phone to message India. Hey, I have a lot to update you on but it’ll be much easier to explain in person. I still have your car and I need it for one thing this morning but I promise I’ll fill the tank ASAP. It’s about the guy that’s been following me. Just know that I’m safe and everything’s okay. I’ll call you when I can. Love you. Send. That’ll have to do for now. Harry returns in jeans and a sweater. It’s still strange to see him so dressed down. “Ready?” he asks. “Yeah. You mind if I wear this to the police station?” you ask, pinching the fabric of his cardigan. You feel the urge to explain yourself—the hole in your sweater, the grime—but Harry’s already shaking his head. “Not at all. Do you maybe want something a little less… loud? I don’t even wear that one out, myself, really.”  You consider the bright cacophony of color like it’s brand new to your eyes. Loud is right. “Yeah, that’s not a terrible idea.”  Harry’s lips twitch. “C’mon then. You’re welcome to pick anything you’d like.” Pick? You nod because you’re worried the surprise is painted on your face. “Okay.” Harry leads you to his bedroom again, and over to the large wooden wardrobe.  He pulls the double doors open and you cannot help yourself from gawking a little. You’re taken by all the exquisite patterns and intricate textures of the suits, but it’s oddly wistful to run your fingertips along all of them hung in a row. You smile privately, a bit removed. “What?” Harry laughs from behind you. “Nothing!” you reply, glancing over your shoulder before saying more softly, “I just recognize some of these.” “Oh, thought you were sizing them up. My mates all take the piss… They say my suits are eccentric.” He rolls his eyes, reciting the insult like he’s quoting their words verbatim. You turn back around to his closet. “I think they look nice—I think you look nice in them.” You take a step back and crane your neck to the shelf of folded sweaters above the hanging rod. The extensive array of muted wool and cotton is a bit overwhelming. You spot the planet sweater he’d worn the first time you saw Sylvia, the oversized yellow one that reminded you of Charlie Brown, the black one with half a red heart and the letters, NY in bold white text… It takes a minute of jogging your memory before you can recall him wearing something more plain. Harry doesn’t own a lot of plain. You still can’t quite reach the shelf up on your tiptoes, but Harry is at your side immediately. “The brown?” He tugs it from the stacks and passes it down. “Yeah, thanks.” You examine the camel colored fabric with tiny flecks of black thread, and run your hand along the smooth purl. “This should do.” You tug the sweater over your head; it’s boxy, your arms aren’t long enough to fit, and it isn’t doing any favors for your shoulders. You have to roll the sleeves up past your wrists before the outfit can half pass as something you purposely wore out of the house. You spin around to face him. “Does it look normal?” Harry’s jaw flexes as he gives you the up-down. You fiddle with one of the sleeves. “Yeah,” Harry says stiffly. “Looks normal.” It’s bizarre walking through the level six hallway; it’s identical to your own, but the last time you’d been here, everything down to the carpet and light fixtures had been tainted by your deafening fear. What’s more is that riding down in the lift with Harry feels entirely different now. You see it all from his perspective, and try to visualize what you look like to him most mornings, standing in the corner with your school bag and a book tucked beneath your arm. The lift picks up a few people on its way down, but by the time it reaches the garage, you and Harry are alone. You catch his eyes in the reflection of the doors a second before they open. He clears his throat. “I know it’s probably… we’ll be fine, but stay close, yeah?” You look up at him and nod. It’s easy to keep to your word. Harry guides you to walk in front of him the entire way as your eyes scan the shadows in between the rows of cars. You’re sure you will never be able to see this garage quite the same way. “It’s the old Volkswagen.” “I see it.” You’re so out of it that you almost try to get in on the passenger side. It’s the kind of slip up that Harry might have teased you about, but he’s quiet and looking around, too. You pull the jacket you’d left on the seat last night into your lap, the two of you strap in, and you cannot pull out into the street fast enough. The mustard yellow envelope in the back seat is an unwelcome passenger, visible in your rearview mirror.  Who else knew about these photos? How many are there that weren’t in your envelope? Are they online somewhere? Would they follow you to law school? Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you grind your teeth. “Alright?” Harry asks. His voice brings you back down to earth. He’d asked you that question when you pricked your finger on the poppy in your jacket pocket. He’d asked you in his bed on the most terrifying night of your life. And he’s asking you now. You nod. “I will be.” • saturday, 5th january 10:42 am • In the parking lot behind Lavender Hill Police Station, you’ve killed the engine but remain in your seat. Part of you is still reluctant to have Harry come along; keeping your composure in front of the police feels hard enough without the prospect of him being there, too, but maybe that’s the one thing that will get you through this. “Sorry.” You shake your head, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been sitting motionless at the wheel. Harry’s gaze is unperturbed. He watches you push anxiously at the sleeves of his sweater. “Take all the time you need.” It’s the same phrase the initial officer who’d taken your statement all those weeks ago had used. It’s what Officer Warren had said to you on the phone last night, and you’re so tired of hearing it. You don’t want to have as much time as you need to feel calm or steady or normal again. You want your time back. You want to reclaim all those extra seconds spent checking over your shoulder, the minutes lost to changing your routes, and the hours spent staring up at the ceiling when you should have been asleep. Rationally, you know that there will be time to relearn how to walk down the street and feel at ease, and plan that trip to Brighton you and India have been talking about for months. There will be time with Harry that isn’t this… stuck in a cramped space, crushed by the weight of your own fear. You hate the way you felt with him in the lift this morning; you want that back most of all. “Faster we get in there,” you say—half to Harry, half to yourself, “the faster we’ll get to leave.” Harry nods. “C’mon then.” The heather grey of the building is no less intimidating than it was in October, but at least this time you don’t have to pull the heavy glass doors open on your own. Inside, you speak with the woman at reception, who gestures for you to sit in a small waiting area just beyond the desk. People in uniform bustle back and forth. Harry’s leg brushes against yours as you sit. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You have no sense of how long you sit waiting—this doesn’t feel like a place where it’s appropriate to play Solitaire on your phone. You can feel Harry looking at you periodically, but you don’t glance back until a woman with a familiar voice appears before you. She ushers you to follow with a quick, professional smile. Harry doesn’t quite offer the same, but you’re reassured anyway. “I’m Officer Warren.” She stops at a desk with an empty chair beside it. You take care to shake her hand firmly, introducing yourself with all the confidence you can scrap together. “Are you comfortable sitting here?” “Yes, this is fine.” If either Harry or Officer Warren notice your voice is an octave higher, neither of them make any sign. “Good.” She reaches past you to shake Harry’s hand too. “Harry.” “Nice to meet you both. We can also find a conference room, if you’d like somewhere more private, or if you’d both like to sit.” Harry speaks up when you don’t right away. “I’m fine standing.” He looks exactly as he had in the car—calm and willing to take your lead, so you sit before you can change your mind. Officer Warren smiles again, clearly trying to put you at ease. You wish it was more effective. “Right, well I won’t take up too much of your time. Since I took your statement last night, I’ve already got a copy of the transcript from our conversation over the phone, and you won’t need to go over all of that again.” Your shoulders cave a little in relief. Harry’s fingers hook gently over the top of your chair. “Okay.” “But,” she continues, “there is the matter of how to proceed. What we talked about regarding your flat still stands… it really isn’t safe for you to remain there, especially since the suspect seems to know which one is yours, and we still don’t have a clear idea of where he is now, or how he was able to access the car park in your building in the first place.” “So…” You shake your head, in either confusion or denial. “I can’t even go home?” “I’m afraid not, for the time being.” Her eyes are soft, regretful. “Not if he knows where you live. Not if there’s a chance he could get more photographs, or try to break in again.” Your stomach twists. “Were you able to figure out who he is?” You’re not even sure you want to know. Officer Warren’s mouth pinches apologetically. “Not yet. We have a couple technicians working on the security footage and the photos you’ve turned in, so hopefully we’ll be able to get something from them. The car he was driving had no plates. You haven’t seen any sign of him since we spoke last?” You shake your head, and she glances up at Harry as if to confirm. “Alright, that’s a good sign at least. He knows we’re watching, now. On the other hand, there’s a chance he’ll carry on, but be stealthier about it. Is it possible for you to physically stay inside, completely out of sight for let’s say, a week?” “I mean… where?” “Do you have somewhere else you can stay for the time being? With a friend?” You open your mouth, but the “Yes,” is not your own. You force yourself not to turn back to look at him; Harry’s fingers touch your shoulder again. “Yes, she does. She can stay with me. We live in the same building after all, so it’ll hardly be disruptive.” Officer Warren gives him a long look. You can’t tell if she approves or is displeased with him for speaking for you, but now that the initial shock has worn off, gratitude washes over you. Asking India to stay with her indefinitely would have been out of the question; there’s no way you’re endangering your best friend any more than you already have. You’d be putting her in a position where she couldn’t say no. She has four roommates. She doesn’t even know about the photos yet.  “That works,” you hear yourself say. This will only be for a few days, you reason—it’ll buy you just enough time to find your feet. By then, you can sort out a longer-term place to stay if the police still haven’t found the man. Officer Warren is speaking again, and it takes effort to actively refocus on the conversation. “The objective here is to make it seem as though you’re gone. On holiday. He’ll be keeping an eye on the building, no doubt, so he’ll notice if the car is gone, or your flat is empty. Is there any way you can take your classes remotely?” You find you can barely speak, so you just nod instead.  She leans in a little, her eyes finding yours more carefully. “I know it’s frightening, but you’ve been incredibly strong. This won’t be forever. In the meantime, we can send an officer back with you this afternoon so you can gather a few of your things.” You nod again. “Do you have any questions for me?” You force yourself to say, “No, thank you,” which Harry echoes. Officer Warren nods, almost perfunctorily, and stands. “If you wait here just a minute, I’ll introduce you to the officer who’ll take you back to your flat. You’ll be in an unmarked car, and we can arrange for yours to be retrieved.” “Thank you. I’ll call my friend now,” you say. “Maybe she can… I'll have to ask her to look after my cat. And it’s her car, anyway.” Officer Warren nods, apparently satisfied.  You shake her hand again, though your mind is stuck on this won’t be forever. As you rise from the chair, you feel the gentle pressure of Harry’s hand on the small of your back. When Officer Warren returns with another uniformed policeman, you don’t want to move, but your legs carry you anyway. Harry’s gaze finds the side of your face periodically like a lighthouse beam while you call India from the backseat of the police car. After reassuring her again that you’re fine, you gloss over the details of staying in Harry’s flat. You can tell even in her silence that she’s not going to let you off the hook that easily, so you start rambling about what to do with Chowder before she gets the chance to say something embarrassing while Harry is sitting right there. “Of course I’m taking Chowder,” she says before you get the chance to phrase the question. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll get in a cab right now. Do you need help packing up?” “Yeah sure, thank you. But what about your car?” “I’ll take the keys from you and get it after. Honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s gonna get stolen from the bloody police station.” It’s a stupid joke but you’re comforted a little anyway. “Okay.” “Be there soon. I love you.” “Love you too.” Harry glances over at you. “Everything okay?” “Yeah.” You smile a little and for the first time in ages, it doesn’t feel forced. “She’s gonna meet us at home and take Chowder for me.” “That’s great.” “I know,” you reply, a little distant. “Harry, thank you for coming with me… It was nice not to have to, y’know, do that alone.” “That’s alright.” His voice is equally gentle. “We’re gonna… They’re gonna find him. And they’re gonna fix this, and then everything’s gonna go back to normal.” You aren’t sure which of you he’s trying to reassure, but Harry meets your eyes and you nod. Back at your building, you meet up with India. “Think I might just pop home, if that’s alright,” Harry says, going in for the sixth-floor button on the keypad. “I told Annie a bit about what’s going on, but I owe her an update.” “Of course.” You look up at him in the reflection of the doors. “We’ll see you down there.” It’s your first time seeing the dent and scratches on the door to your flat in person. You shiver, turn the key, and push the door open.  “Chowder!” you shout as a flash of orange darts through your legs, meowing down the hall. The officer’s hand lands reflexively on his baton as your cat scares all three of you half to death. Once you manage to corral your cat back to your corner of the hallway, you struggle to keep him still in your arms. “Indy, his crate is under my bed—” “Hold off a minute, I’m going to do a quick walkthrough. I’m sure everything’s fine, but wait out here.” The officer leaves the door cracked open behind him. India offers a small, encouraging smile when you flinch at the sound of him announcing himself in your apartment. You stroke between Chowder’s ears; he is heavy and warm in your arms, and his fur sticks uncomfortably to the sweat on your palms. “All clear.” The officer reappears. “Let’s try to be quick about this.” India immediately ducks through the door following him, but you have to take a deep breath before stepping through the threshold. The place looks completely untouched. Had you been expecting company, perhaps you would have thought to clear the dishes from the sink or remove your laundry from the drying rack. After coercing an unusually talkative Chowder into his travel crate, you and India work as a team to stuff as much into your duffel bag as will fit. Shirts, bras, and pants hurtle past your head. “Indy, I’m staying at a neighbor’s for a few days—what on earth am I going to need this for?” You hold up the silk, strappy dress that just landed on your neatly-folded stacks, shooting her a disapproving look. “I’m just grabbing and throwing!” “Well just, y’know… let’s make sure we’re not speeding through this at the expense of packing with a little common sense.” “I’ve got this,” India says, waving down at the open duffel. “Go sort whatever toiletries you need, yeah?” Thankfully you’ve stayed overnight at her place enough times to warrant a travel case of essentials that lives under your bathroom sink. There’s makeup cluttered all over the counter. You stare at it a moment before rolling your eyes at yourself. “We should probably get going.” The officer’s voice from the other room startles you both as India zips up your duffel. “Are you two about ready?”  As you stick your head out of your bedroom, the officer is peeking through the blinds across the street. “Yes,” you reply. “We are.” Overnight bag and Chowder in tow, you clamber back onto the lift. “Did you get your toothbrush?” “Yes.” “Face wash?” “Yes.” “Pillow?” “Indy, you saw me putting it in—” “Towel?” “Yes.” “Phone charger?” “… Shit.” Ding. The officer steps out with you on the sixth floor as you thank him, and bid a quick goodbye once he reassures you to call if you need anything or, of course, if anything happens. India turns to face you next. “He’s this way.” You nod down the hall, and she leads. “It’s right at the end. The one with the wreath.” The doors of the lift close. You don’t want to think about the last time you’d been walking down this corridor and heard that sound from behind you. India moves aside holding Chowder’s crate by the handle, and the shopping bag full of his supplies as you step up to the welcome mat with your things. Harry swings open the door to his apartment after the second knock, immediately taking the duffel bag from off of your shoulder. “Oh, Harry, you don’t have to—” “I got it.” India elbows you in the ribs. Harry turns to carry your bag to Sylvia's room, and when you look behind at her, her eyebrows are raised above an animated smirk. “Don’t,” you whisper through gritted teeth. She raises a hand in defense as Harry returns before reaching out to accept his offered hand. “Hello, I’m India.” “Harry.”  “Pleasure.” He flashes her a warm smile. She nods appreciatively as they shake hands—at you, however, instead of Harry and your cheeks ignite. “Okay great. That’s settled then. Shall we—um… Indy?” You cut in, then turn to her, nodding to the door with I’m going to kill you in your eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Harry!” “Cheers, dear. You as well.” Harry’s attention returns to you for a moment. “I’ll just be…” He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. You step out into the hall with India. Chowder meows from the crate in her arms and she almost drops him. “What,” you hiss, “was that?”  She ignores your tone, then says your name like it’s a plea. “Call me if you need absolutely anything, or text me—no matter what time it is. I’ll drop everything and come straight to you.” “I’m sleeping two floors below where I usually do, Indy, I’m not dying.” “I know, I know… How’s a Skype dinner tomorrow night? I’ll order us a take away.” “Definitely.” You wish you could squeeze her in another tight hug, but Chowder’s crate impedes you. “Thank you.” “Love you, babe.” “Love you too.” She looks unsatisfied. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. Text me when we’re eating, okay?” You begin to walk backward into Harry’s apartment and blow her a kiss. “I will… Bye!” “Please don’t kill my cat!” You lean on the door frame, watching India’s silhouette shrink as she heads back down the hall to the lift with Chowder. You sigh and close the door, but as you turn around, your hand rushes to your chest in a gasp; Harry is standing just behind you, rubbing his face. “So I’ve just rung Annie while you were upstairs… ” He steps aside to give you a clear path through the hallway. “Oh?” “I’m sorry—they’re just coming,” he rushes, sounding a little panicked as you step into Sylvia's room. You set your phone and laptop down with the rest of your things. “They insisted ‘cause they’ve got a spare mattress, and I told them you needed a place to crash for a bit and also that you stayed here last night so… yeah. You don’t have to be here for that. When they come—oh, and they probably have Sylvia, too, if that’s… ” Harry trails off.” “Wait, I’m sorry.” You close your eyes and shake your head. “Annie? You mean—” “Sylvia’s mum, yeah, and um… her fiancé, AJ.” Harry tilts his head down, as if to gauge your reaction. “And they want to give… they have a spare mattress? But you already have a mattress.” “That’s what I said!” Harry gestures wildly. It must have been a lively phone call. “Oh, well that’s… awfully kind of them,” you begin, trying to keep up. “Would it be easier if I wasn’t—” “No.” He’s clearly surprised at his own volume as he cuts you off. Harry literally leans back, hesitating. “I mean… stay. They’d love to meet you. They’re my family and you’re…” His eyes flit back to yours and hang on. “You’re obviously gonna to be staying here a bit, and they drop by all the time so I jus’ don’t wanna overwhelm you, is all.” Suddenly, it’s your turn struggling to look at him. “Well, I—” “H, open the door! This is heavy!” a voice bellows from beyond the front door. Harry’s eyes shut momentarily. “Coming!” he calls. You stand there, in the doorway to Sylvia’s room, stunned at the pace with which this is all unfolding. Harry jogs to the door. You poke your head out as an explosion of noise disrupts what had before been so peaceful. A child’s high-pitched shriek rips through the flat, followed by a long, labored groan from Harry as Sylvia barrels into his arms and he crouches down to lift her. “How’s Daddy’s girl?” he greets. Sylvia simply continues screaming and tries to bend over backward out of his arms. “Hi, Harry.” A striking woman with jet-black hair waltzes in, carrying a large dish of food wrapped in tin foil, seemingly unphased. Harry shifts Sylvia to one arm, bending over to greet her in a side hug and quick kiss to the cheek. “Hi, love.” What appears to be a twin sized mattress with twig legs follows in suit, grunting softly. “Still heavy.” “Right, sorry.” Harry hands Sylvia off to who you assume is Annie as he hurries to take the mattress, revealing a second, much taller woman with sunglasses atop her blonde head of hair. She’s wearing red lipstick and bright suede pumps. “There we go,” she sighs. “I need a fag.” Harry almost takes out a light fixture as he hauls the bed. You press yourself up against the wall as he offers a quick, “S’cuse me,” and passes you to Sylvia's room. The two women look at you as simultaneous smiles light their faces. “Hi!” “Hello!” Sylvia waves at you, too. “Guess this one doesn’t need an introduction,” the dark-haired woman laughs, approaching with a hand extended. You notice that she’s the one wearing the ring. “I’m Annie.” “It’s great to meet you, Harry has spoken so highly of both of you.” You turn to the other woman after introducing yourself. “AJ.” One corner of her mouth quirks up. “It’s a pleasure.” “Thank you so much for the mattress, ” you begin, wringing your hands. “It seems like everyone’s done so much to help me in the past few days… It’s really meant a lot.” AJ tilts her head to look at you with a more meaningful gaze, and Annie steps forward to rest a hand on your forearm. “Harry hasn’t gone into a terrible amount of detail but… we’re so, awfully sorry for what’s happened to you.” She squeezes gently, her fingers in the crook of your elbow. The strange familiarity of the gesture disarms you. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, and with your family so far away—I just… we heard about what was going on, and that was it. We had to help.” You nod and suddenly have trouble swallowing. There’s just something different about discussing this with women. “Harry’s air mattress,” AJ chips in, sardonic, “belongs in an incinerator.” “Hey!” His voice comes muted from the open door of Sylvia’s bedroom. Now that you’ve seen the both of them together up close, you realize how wrong you were in thinking that Sylvia only took after her father. Annie’s features are evident in her daughter’s deep, brown eyes, her nose, and the high angles of her cheeks.  “Well,” Annie starts, raising her eyebrows at everyone, “we’re obviously feeding you.” You laugh in disbelief. “No you’re not!” “We are!” She smiles as she sets Sylvia down, who weaves through everyone’s legs to her bedroom. “And relax, it’s already cooked so there’s no use in turning it down.” AJ pulls you in for a side hug, which you were grossly unprepared for. “Thank… you.” In your bewilderment, it’s all you can manage to say as Annie removes the tin foil from a full pan’s helping of chicken and vegetables. “Isn’t this supposed to be tomorrow’s roast? The Sunday roast?” Harry appears in the kitchen with Sylvia on his hip. He frowns, poking his head over Annie’s shoulder as she preheats the oven. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies. They lock eyes. Something tender passes between them; part of you feels like you should look away. “Annie… ” Harry says, softer now. “You didn’t have to do all this.” She ignores him, setting the timer on the oven as AJ slides a small mountain of tupperware into the fridge. The kettle starts to scream. You hadn’t realized someone started tea. You’re not sure what to do besides stand by the sink and stare. AJ rushes over to fill four steaming mugs, portioning different amounts of cream and honey into each. She turns to the few stray dishes in the sink, beginning to wash. “AJ, stop tha—” “Harry, relax would you?” She whips his leg with a dish towel and he relents. “Why is she staying in my room?” Sylvia pipes up from Harry’s arms. He looks across the kitchen at you, and then down to her. “Well see, bug, Daddy’s got a friend who’s gonna stay here for a little while.” Harry points at you and twists so she has a better view. You wave your fingers at her, and Harry asks Sylvia if she can say your name, but she simply buries her face into his sweater. “Like a slumber party?” “Um—” Harry falters. “Sort of, but not quite.” “It’s a grown-up slumber party?” AJ chokes on her tea. The tips of Harry’s ears go crimson.  “Honey, it’s like when Auntie Kristen comes over to Mummy and Mum’s to stay on holiday,” Annie salvages. Harry’s shoulders visibly relax.  Sylvia tugs at the collar of Harry’s sweater. “How long?” she begs. Your heart falls. “‘M not sure, Vi.” Harry moves some hair from her face as she pouts, then kisses her forehead. “Not forever.” “This’ll be good for you, Harry. You need more friends.” Annie pinches Harry’s side before turning to you with a smirk. “Maybe you can finally start hanging out with people your own age.” You shrug to play along, pursing your lips against a smile. “I mean… ” “Harry doesn’t go out much.” Annie’s comedic whisper fills the room as she carries your tea over to you. “Neither do you!” Harry retorts, frowning playfully over his shoulder, attempting to smack her; she narrowly dodges. “Yeah, just the one time,” AJ deadpans, pointing between them and then nodding to Sylvia. “Jesus Christ,” Harry breathes before they break into laughter. You can’t help but join in. Sylvia’s head swings from parent to parent, smiling in oblivious delight. “Alright, alright,” Annie wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Just leave the roast in there until you’re ready to eat. We should get going soon.” “Have you got sheets that fit the bed?” Harry asks, bouncing Sylvia on his hip. “Right!” Annie’s eyes go wide. She turns to AJ, “Darling, you mind popping down to the car to get those?” “Since I already hauled up the mattress, am I allowed to play the gender card?” AJ throws eyes at Harry. “Hands are full,” he replies cheerfully. He holds one of Sylvia’s arms up to wave. “Fine,” she relents, plucking the keys from Annie’s back pocket. “Thank you!” Annie calls after her. AJ simply waves a hand behind her head. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while later!” AJ begins to walk faster. Harry shoots Annie a jokingly scandalized look with a hand covering his gaping mouth. She squints at him and rolls her eyes. He puts Sylvia down, whispering in her ear as he points to the miniature arts and crafts table in the living room.  Sylvia takes a seat on the colorful stool, her tiny features already pinched in concentration as she finds a crayon and begins to draw. Harry crouches at her side, watching her for a moment before kissing the top of her head. He breezes past you before you hear the bathroom door lock shut and now it’s just you and Annie alone together. “I love Harry, but he’s a man and he doesn’t know anything.” You shouldn’t laugh, but you do. “We live ten minutes away. If you need anything at all—anything, I mean it, please call us. Mine and AJ’s mobile numbers are both on the fridge.” “Thank you, Annie.” She hesitates, playing absently with the tag of her tea bag before nodding to the living room. “Let’s sit.” You have a seat on the couch; Annie takes the small leather armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Her eyes are warm. You see a flash of that expression that had passed between her and Harry. “He is a good man.” Annie’s voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “One of the best I’ve ever met… You’re in good hands, I promise.” There isn’t a chance for you to respond as the sound of the faucet running in the bathroom interrupts. Harry re-enters the living room, his eyes flitting between yours and Annie’s with a curious look on his face. “Am I interrupting something?” “Course not, lovely. We’re just waiting for AJ with the sheets,” Annie replies. She must be killer at poker. AJ slips through the door with a folded bundle of checkered sheets nearly covering her face. “Miss me?” She perches on the armrest of Annie’s chair upon returning from Syvia’s room, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. You are acutely aware of the warmth of Harry’s leg against yours, suddenly too nervous to shift and potentially draw attention to it. Though you try hard not to, you can practically see the silent conversation happening between the three other adults in the room; if you had to guess, it’s probably about you. You categorically refuse to look at Harry, so you’re left with AJ’s nearly imperceptible eyebrow-raising, and a curl of Annie’s lip that seems to be a question and a confirmation all at once. The three of them are a little… too quiet. “Well we should be off then,” she says, drawing her hands together in a clap. “Someone needs a bath tonight.”  Sylvia hurries over and locks her arms around Harry’s legs. He scoops her up like she weighs absolutely nothing. “C’mon now, angel,” he murmurs, glancing over his daughter’s head to look at you with a vaguely resigned expression. “Gonna see you tomorrow, aren’t I? Gotta be good for your mums.” Harry fixes Sylvia’s wobbling lower lip with a stern look. “Hey, now. What’s this about? S’not any different from Mummy’s normal turn with you, right? You know you’ve got too much love pumpkin, we gotta share ya.” Sylvia mumbles something too soft to make out; Harry ducks his head close. “Tell me?” You don’t catch all the words, except, “stars.” His face crumples a bit. “Oh honey, of course you’ll still have your bedtime stars. They’re not going anywhere. Nobody’s gonna take your stars.” “And that sounds like the beginning of a meltdown,” Annie says, standing quickly and pulling Sylvia from Harry’s arms. “Best be on our way before she tests all our eardrums.” Sylvia momentarily seems like she might reach back for him, but then she looks at you as though by accident, and shrinks back into her mother’s arms. Shame knots in your stomach as the two women head for the door. Sylvia peeks over Annie’s shoulder as AJ slings her purse over her arm with the car keys in hand. You busy yourself clearing the empty mugs of tea in some small attempt to give them privacy. “Come ‘round about six, yeah?” Annie says as AJ waves at you and disappears first out the door. Harry is sliding Sylvia’s arm through the second sleeve of her coat. His and Annie’s teamwork seems fluid and practiced. “Sounds good.” He tugs her tiny knit hat more securely over her curls. “Love you, bug.” “Hôn ba đi, Vi.”  You have no idea what Annie’s just said to Sylvia but Harry leans forward to receive his daughter’s kiss, placing an audible one on her forehead in return.  He says something else to Sylvia that’s not English. That deeply tender look in Annie’s face returns. Harry’s hand falls to her waist and she touches his jaw to place a quick peck at the corner of his mouth. “Call us if you need anything.” She turns back to you. “You too. Our numbers are—” “On the fridge,” you finish with a smile, waving. “Thank you, Annie.” Harry shuts the door behind them and the flat falls silent for the first time in what feels like ages. You hear him laugh once before he turns to you. “Sorry about that.” “No. Harry, I should be the one apologizing. Sylvia’s so upset, I feel awful.” Harry looks from you to the door and back again, shaking his head as he moves towards the kitchen. “Oh no, don’t worry about that. She was mostly tired, is all. Happens all the time.” He pauses before joking, “Sorry you had to hear my really terrible Vietnamese.” You watch as he begins to rifle through the cabinets. “What are you doing?” “I’m sure I left it in here somewhere—aha!” He holds an empty mason jar aloft before grabbing a sharpie and the magnetic pad of Hello Kitty sticky notes from the fridge door. Harry scrawls quickly, the cap of the pen between his teeth, before sticking a note on the glass and holding it up for you to read the big, block letters. APOLOGIES.

[alice-dont-break]

a little fic for y’all based on the writing retreat, because i’m obsessed with how peaceful she looks and would like to imagine ant being there too 😌 special thank you to @aangstlord for literally half of these ideas and for being my #1 fan 💕

With how much peace she found through writing, Jasmine sometimes forgot how drained she could be at the end of a long session. Recording from the floor had begun because it was comfortable and grounding, but eventually she found herself washed away by the quiet strumming of the guitar until her eyes fluttered shut. A faint smile continued to brighten her face as the serenity of the retreat kept her as warm as a blanket would have, but her features were all softened into her effortless sleep.

Anthony had given her space to work through this latest idea, though it was nearly impossible to pull himself away. Whether he was serving as her muse or watching the sparkle in her eye follow a new inspiration, watching her in her element was enchanting. Luckily for him, the silky timbre of the melodies she played with flowed through the entire house, ensuring he’d never lose the soothing quality they always exuded.

Silence fell along with a wave of calm in the earliest morning hours, but Anthony found himself waiting for her to drag herself towards him in bed to no avail. He decided to go check on her in the living room turned recording studio, and found her curled up on the floor in a peaceful sleep. He was tempted to let her rest, as she had melted so completely into the floor that her face held not a single crease, but decided he ought to save her from the strain in her neck she would have surely woken to a few hours later.

He padded towards where she lay on the ground and crouched down beside her, careful to preserve the last few seconds of her rest. For one final moment, he listened to the slow puffs of her breath and aligned himself to her easy rhythm, then reached with both hands to gently squeeze her shoulders. He let the warmth of his hands linger over her upper back, as his thumbs kneaded circles around her shoulder blades until her lashes untangled to reveal her sleepy brown eyes gazing up at him.

“Hey Jas? Wanna come up to bed, baby?” He whispered, to blend in with the softness that wrapped her up. She could only muster some sleepy grumbles, but he knew that the subtle dip of her chin was close enough to a nod. He trailed his hand up from her back to stroke her cheek, clearing away her hair so he could duck down and press a soft kiss there. “Okay love, I’ve gotcha.”

His hands slipped under her arms to pull her up with him as he stood, and she clung to his chest just as quickly. She knowingly wrapped her arms and legs around his neck and waist as he enveloped her in a tight hug, pausing to kiss the side of her head before walking as steadily as possible towards their bedroom. She hummed softly as she settled her face in the crook of his neck, soaking up all his warmth and allowing his embrace to keep her on the edge of sleep. Her eyes easily stayed closed, as she didn’t need to know what was going on around her to know that he had everything taken care of. The arm wrapped around her back and the hand in her hair gave her all the safety she needed to rest.

When they reached the bedroom, Anthony carefully set her down on her side of the bed, and left her with a kiss to her forehead to go retrieve pajamas and a face cloth from the bathroom. When he returned, she had rolled over to his side of the bed, burying her nose into his pillow to inhale his musky scent. He stood at the edge of the bed for a few breaths to watch how her features relaxed with the cadence of her breath, then sat down next to her. He combed his fingers through the curls strewn across her forehead and pushed them back, so he could bring the warm cloth to her face. She grumbled a barely audible “thank you” as he swiped the water down to her neck then peppered a few gentle kisses along the dampened ridge of her cheekbone.

The coolness of the air against the water on her face gave Jasmine a little burst of energy, so she held onto his forearm for leverage to pull herself up to seated. Hugging his arm tightly and using his bicep as a pillow, she nuzzled into him through a yawn.

“Can I get you changed, babe?” He tried to rouse her with a firm hand rubbing up and down her back, but still all he got in return was some grumbling and a nod, so he breathed out a little laugh and confirmed with a peck to her temple. He left her there for a moment, ignoring her groan as soon as they lost contact, then returned a few seconds later with one of his t-shirts and a pair of pajama shorts.

She sat limp in his arms, allowing him to pull off her sweatpants and replace them with the soft linen shorts, then complied lazily when he tapped her arms so she’d raise them for him to lift off her shirt and bra. Instead of dropping them back down to her sides when he was done undressing her, she looped them tightly around his neck, pulling him down to nuzzle into the side of her head.

“Almost done baby,” he cooed, “then we can cuddle all night, okay?”

“Mkay,” she whined, giving up her hold on his neck.

Before standing up he dipped down to press a kiss to the bare skin over her collarbone, then another to the side of her jaw, and finally one to the corner of her mouth. She was so naturally gorgeous like this; her freshly dewed skin, her eyelashes floating together then apart with her slow blinks, and her lips curling with every gentle touch of his skin on hers.

Finally, he slipped one of his t-shirts over her head, and she swiftly worked her hands through the sleeves so she could wrap herself up in a tight hug. She dipped her nose down to inhale his scent from the fabric that draped around her, and hummed contently. Before she could lay back herself, Anthony had already pulled off his own shirt and lay down next to her, so he wrapped an arm around her waist and eased her back into him.

She rested her head back on his shoulder for just a moment before curling into his side, throwing a leg over his and resting her palm on his chest. His arm was wrapped tightly around her upper back, settling to rub up and down in time with their breathing. His chin dipped down so he could kiss the crown of her head, which prompted her to tilt upwards to meet his lips with her own. They kissed gently, their lips never really separating except for quick breaths where they’d fill the gap between them by nudging their noses together.

The only sounds that filled the room were the pecking of their lips, the shuffling of the blankets as Jasmine inched up closer to him, and the soft giggles as their chins bumped together. There were no words to be exchanged, as the curl of their lips together told the entire story of how content they were to be in this haven they’d created.

Once they were certain that they’d memorized every detail of the other’s lips all over again, and that the sweetness of the other wouldn’t fade, Anthony brushed over her cheek with his thumb and pulled them apart with a last, slow kiss to the corner of her smile. Jasmine grinned to herself as she curled deeper into his arms until her head rested on his stomach, pondering whether a day already so perfect could always be made better by something as simple as her fiancé’s kiss.

As she began to trace little shapes over the ridges of his abs beside her head, her words began to flow just as effortlessly. “Today was good,” she mumbled.

“Yeah?” His fingers began to thread through her hair, pushing the wayward curls off her forehead so he could see the way her eyes brightened when she spoke.

“Mhm, got a lot done. Think I’ll have the full album by the time we leave.”

“S’amazing baby, you gotta teach me how to get somethin’ done that fast,” he chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek as she tilted up to meet his eyes. They smiled at one another though their faces stayed soft, happy enough to focus on the tender, loving focus they could find in the other’s eyes.

Jasmine continued telling him about the progress she’d made throughout the day, pausing occasionally only to tilt her head up to bask in the way Anthony watched her speak. His attention was honed solely on her and his admiration seeped into his every feature. His eyes crinkled up every time her pitch climbed when she got excited about the idea she was telling him, lost in the way her unfamiliar sense of pride had her cheeks burning against his skin.

Each time she looked up, his knuckles stroked gently down her cheek while they exchanged barely-there smiles that turned into breathy giggles, just enough to tell the other that they were nearly bursting with how much love they felt in that moment. After a while, Jasmine’s words turned more into mumbles and Anthony’s responses into soft forehead kisses, as their focus shifted to the way their bodies melded together. Jasmine buried her face into his stomach and wrapped her arm tighter around his middle, trying to pull him closer despite already being fully enveloped and flush against him. He was holding her just as secure, with the arm tightly around her rubbing soothing circles over her hip while his fingers twisted her curls then pressed into her scalp, releasing her from whatever tension hadn’t already melted off into the crumpled sheets beneath them.

Most often when they’re positioned like this, with his soft touches and hushed tones, he’s carefully and wearily watching for hitched breaths or watering eyes and praying that somehow his efforts to soothe her to sleep will pay off. Tonight though, he found himself watching for her eyes lingering over his lips or the coy blushing around her cheeks that she’d try to hide against him. Instead of wishing she’d fall asleep, he hoped they could stay awake forever in this moment. It was a double edged sword though, as the very things that made them so content were pushing them towards sleep.

As Anthony felt her eyelashes brush against him at a slower and slower pace until they were finally shut, Jasmine was using the steady thud of his heart as her own personal lullaby. At some point, she felt hands bracing her waist before she was pulled upward, but the scent of the crook her face had been nestled into was so familiar and homely than she didn’t need to stir. He’d simply needed her closer, so he could nuzzle his cheek against her head and feel her chest rising and falling along with him. Even if it felt redundant with how peaceful she’d been all week, he always needed to be sure he could wake up if she stirred or faltered in the night.

Once they were settled in on Anthony’s pillow, sinking deeper into their combined indentation in the mattress, he pulled the blankets over them, being sure Jasmine was properly bundled where none of their shared warmth could escape. Even though he was just as relaxed and could have fallen asleep right then too, he decided to wait. He wanted to soak up this image, focusing on how he felt purely happy, rather than his usual exhausted sense of relief, to see her so peacefully resting. There were no worries or fears that her anxiety would follow her into sleep and turn dreams into nightmares, or tears suppressed for her benefit that were now clawing their way out; he was simply in awe. She was beautiful, calm, and safe in his arms, and now he could lull himself to sleep with the softness of the kisses he’d press over and over to her forehead.

[ineloqueent]

dreaming of you

Brian May x Reader

synopsis: a storm results in a power cut, after you get locked out of your flat. luckily, your neighbour is home.

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i hope you don’t mind that i took a few creative liberties with the prompts, m’dear <3

see the moodboard here!

⭒

London, 1973

It was one of those days that simply went from bad to worse. And then fell down the stairs. And into a frying pan. And then leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. Except the fire was not simply a fire, but a flaming pit, that was somehow also freezing cold and pitch black.

In short, you’d had a terrible day. And as life would have it, your day was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

It had started that morning, when you’d got out on the wrong side of the bed, quite literally. You had fallen face-first over your office chair, which stood mere millimetres from the left side of your bed, because you lived in a tiny flat on Camden High Street, above a shoe shop, where, in the winter there was rarely hot water in the pipes, and you were forced to scrape ice off of the bathroom mirror with a razor in order to see your reflection.

So, you’d fallen out of bed and bruised— your forehead— instantly, only to realise that you’d slept through your alarm, and forgotten to lay out clothes for the day the night before. This was then followed by a rushed—  cold— shower, and jumping in front of the iced-over mirror to glimpse the large bump already forming on your forehead.

You’d made it to the kitchen, and found that you’d run out of both coffee and tea, forcing you to decide between going without caffeine, or being late to work in the process of getting a takeaway beverage. You opted for the latter, and sprinted out the front door with your scarf only half-slung around your neck.

You’d shouted a hasty good morning to your shop keeper neighbour from the lower floor, before running straight into your other neighbour, the one who lived right next door to you, and shared your rice paper-thin walls.

He’d narrowly avoided spilling his cup of scalding coffee down your front, but in avoiding spilling it on you, the poor bloke had instead dropped the mug at his feet, and watched it shatter to pieces, coffee spattering his white shoes.

Still, he was the first to apologise.

He was like that, Brian May. Very polite. Well-mannered. Ever the friendly neighbour.

And very beautiful. You’d noticed.

Off to work you’d rushed, once you’d helped him to clean up the mess, because you weren’t about to leave him standing in a pile of shattered porcelain, the existence of which was quite honestly your fault.

You’d been not five, not ten, not twenty, but thirty minutes late to work, and your boss had been none too pleased.

“Deadlines,” he’d told you. “We have deadlines!”

Deadlines your arse. You’d watched that man leisurely read his morning paper, with his feet on an ottoman, whilst you scrambled to get your affairs in order.

It’d then been a drab day, working at the newspaper, because it seemed that nothing was happening in the world, outside of your own little corner, where everything seemed to be happening all at once, and thus, there was no story for you to write. You’d been reduced to running fax and photocopies for various people, and— ironically— doing a coffee run, because everyone else was too busy for such a frivolous thing as a coffee run. Funny, though; for all they shunned the coffee run, they could not do without their precious caffeine to fuel their productivity.

The day seemed to drag on, and when it finally let up, the rain came down with the night, and you, with no umbrella and a good walk on either side of your tube ride, stared miserably through the window at the depressing weather.

But at home, pasta and television and your lovely, soft bed awaited you, and so, you were desperate to get home as quickly as possible.

With a sigh, you stepped outside, and let the rain soak you as you went on your way, having once read in a scientific study in the newspaper which had concluded from a series of experiments that one got more wet from running through rain than from walking through it.

The tube was crowded, as usual, and like a good citizen, you offered your seat to an elderly lady, only to realise upon second glance that she was not elderly at all, and you had just morally offended a rather prim-looking business woman. And lost your seat to the smirking man who’d watched the exchange occur.

You tracked mud all the way up to your flat, nearly breaking your foot at least twice when you nearly slipped on the rain-slick wood of the stairs.

The final nail— or so you thought—  in the coffin of your terrible day came when you fumbled in your jacket pockets for your key.

The sinking feeling in your stomach was perhaps the heaviest you’d ever felt.

In your rush that morning, you’d forgotten your key.

Brian May walked up the stairs just in time to see you kick your shoe off in frustration, and let out a laugh at the sight of you.

You looked up from your abused shoe to find Brian paused at his door, one eyebrow slightly raised in concern.

“Alright?” he asked, dubiously.

You took a deep breath, in an attempt to remain calm and appear normal at the height of your despair. “I’ve had a shitty day, since before you saw me this morning, and now I’ve locked myself out of my flat. Alright, you think?”

“No,” he conceded, “but it seemed polite to ask.”

“Do you always just do what’s polite?” you sighed.

“Now that,” said Brian, inclining his head, “wasn’t very polite.”

You shook your head quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant it in a much more flattering way, like, you never fail to be polite, even when it’s hard to be, or when I’m sure you’d much rather say something sarcastic, or even just plain rude. You know,” you rambled, “you’re good at that—” you waved a hand, and amusement flitted across his eyes— “filter thing. You have a filter, I mean.”

“And you don’t,” he observed.

“Exactly.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, for once,” said Brian, “you look an absolute wreck, but—”

At that moment was when the real final nail of the coffin fell into place.

Because at that moment, accompanied by an ear-splitting peal of thunder, lightning struck, and eradicated the power supply of approximately one-third of the London metropolitan area.

“Bloody hell,” Brian remarked, as the rumble of thunder receded. The two of you stood in darkness on the landing, and while before, there had only been one bare lightbulb to light your surroundings, it was greatly different to be standing in total darkness when the city outside had become equally as dark.

“The power—”

You thought Brian nodded across from you where he stood, in the blackness of the hall.

“So…” you muttered. “What now?”

“Well, given our presently rather strange circumstances, I’ll offer to let you sleep on my sofa, and we can talk to Clarisse in the morning.”

Clarisse owned the shoe shop beneath your flats, and therefore your flats as well. She was yours and Brian’s landlady, but, as with her shop, she was only ever in from nine to five. Given that it was now six in the evening, she was most certainly long gone.

You considered Brian’s offer.

The two of you had shared a landing for four, almost five years now, since you’d each come to London, and yet, though you were friendly, you’d never got past having coffee together. You knew that Brian was studying astrophysics at Imperial College, which was very impressive indeed, and that he was the guitarist in a talented, but relatively unknown band. You’d encountered the other members of the band a few times here and there, every year, given that they sometimes practiced, or held meetings, at Brian’s residence. Clarisse didn’t mind the band playing, and as the next door building always had loud music pounding, there was no danger of annoying the neighbours to the point of the police being phoned, so Brian and his band were free to hold their rehearsals. You knew they were talented because you could hear them playing through said rice paper-thin walls.

And having had coffee with the man in question at least three times, you felt safe enough in taking up his offer. You only regretted that in all your years living next door to him, you’d never invited him over. Then again, he’d never invited you over either. But here he was now, in your hour of need, and that had to count for something.

You nodded gratefully, then remembered that he probably couldn’t see you all too well, and said,

“I think I’ll take up your offer. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nonsense,” said Brian. “I’m just polite.”

You thought he might have winked, but of course, in the dark, you couldn’t be sure.

He unlocked his front door, and you followed him inside.

“Watch out for the—”

You stumbled over what felt and sounded to be a guitar case.

“Oh shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” you apologised profusely.

He chuckled. “It’s fine. It’s empty.”

“Oh, thank god,” you muttered. “Thought I’d just destroyed something, again.”

“Yeah, it was bad enough that you ruined my coffee cup this morning.”

Reflexively, you covered your blush with your hand. “Please don’t remind me,” you groaned.

“I won’t miss it,” Brian assured you, tossing his keys onto a little table. “It was a hideous thing. Something Fred got me once from Kensington Market, where he works. Pretty sure the thing was second-hand too.”

Fred. Freddie, lead singer of the band you’d only heard through walls. Funny, charming, friendly though shy.

You wrinkled your nose. “Second-hand…”

“Yeah. He’s got no taste, silly bugger.” Though Brian’s remarks sounded harsh, he spoke with a fondness that could only have been reserved for the highest regard of friendships, and you thought that he and his bandmates must be quite good friends.

“Hungry?” Brian asked. “I’ve only got some left-over lasagna, unfortunately, since I wasn’t expecting company, and it’s vegetarian, but we can heat it up in the oven, and there’s enough for the both of us.”

“Honestly, Brian, that sounds delicious.”

Your eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, and so you saw his smile in response to your comment.

“Well, great. I’ll heat that up, then. Make yourself at home. If you can find the living room,” he added with a laugh. “There’s some candles in the chest of drawers by the window, so if you get those out, I’ll find some matches too, and we can have some light.”

“Will do.”

You set about your task, managing to only stub your toe once after removing your shoes, and set up candles about the living room, where you assumed Brian intended to set up dinner.

He brought you matches, and brought with him a glass bottle.

“Wine?” he offered you, having poured himself a glass, and you accepted, because it was Friday night and what the hell.

You lit the candles as Brian went back to his cooking, and before long, he returned with the lasagna dished up.

As your host sat down across from you, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

With the candles providing a rather romantic glow, catching on Brian’s pretty ringlet curls and dancing in his eyes, plus the wine, and now, the static-y music coming in over a battery-powered radio, this atmosphere was a lot cosier than you had expected.

Brian furrowed his brow at your noise of amusement. “What..?”

“Are we on a date right now?”

With a glance about the room, with its overstuffed cushions and stitched drapes, the two of you eating a meal by candlelight, Brian laughed too.

“It would seem that way.”

He raised his glass to you, and you would have been lying if you’d said that the gesture and his words hadn’t made your heart skip a beat.

You ate in silence for a few moments, until Brian spoke again.

“Would you mind awfully if we were?

The question startled you a little, and you swallowed your wine carefully.

“No,” you said honestly.

A small smile graced his mouth, before his eyes dropped to his lap. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I always meant to ask you out.”

You blurted, “Did you really?”

He smiled fully now. “Yeah. But I’ve always been so damn shy.”

You were the one to raise your glass this time. “Well, here we are now. And you’re not getting rid of me. At least until tomorrow.”

He laughed gently in response, and you thought of how lovely and warm the sound was.

If only you were as warm as that laugh. The rain that had soaked your clothes was beginning to take its toll on you.

You finished dinner in silence, and Brian cleared the plates in silence too.

He came back after washing the dishes, just in time to see you shiver.

“Oh, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Extra blankets.”

He fetched them, but then looked down at the bundle in dismay. It was very little; you could both see that.

You watched him close his eyes briefly in the wash of candlelight, saw him grit his teeth. You waited with bated breath for what he was going to say.

“It gets really cold here at night.”

This you already knew, from your experiences at your own flat.

“Yeah.”

“And it’ll get even colder now that we’ve lost all form of central heating… Forgive me if this is entirely over the line...” he sighed, and opened his eyes, watching you with a cautiousness that betrayed nerves. “But it might be best if I sleep here, near you. Body heat, and all that.”

“Oh,” you said, blushing slightly. Stupid blush. “Yes, that’s probably a— uh— good idea.”

“Right. Um. Bathroom’s down the hall, if you wanted to chan— oh. Well. Hang on. I’ll get you a jumper or something to change into.”

Your blush only deepened, knowing that you would be wearing his clothes.

You couldn’t look at him when you took the dry, clean clothes he handed you, and hurried to change in the bathroom, before returning to the makeshift bed now established on the floor of Brian’s living room.

He brushed past you to use the bathroom himself.

You slid under the duvet laid out, and shifted the pillow beneath your head, making yourself comfortable.

Brian returned, and began extinguishing the candles around the room.

Finally, a soft shuffling sound announced that he had laid down beside you, and you released a breath of relief, knowing you could soon go to sleep and forget the awkwardness you were so adept at in your conscious state.

But then you noticed that Brian, in his flannel pyjama trousers and t-shirt, was going to sleep with only a single blanket pulled over him; he’d let you have the duvet without a word.

You weren’t about to let him freeze to death on his own living room floor.

With a courage you knew not from where, you rolled over to face Brian. Or rather, Brian’s back. He was turned away from you. He probably thought you’d already gone to sleep.

You laid your hand gently on his shoulder, and he turned slowly.

“Hey,” you murmured, as his eyes met yours. “Sleepover?” You offered the duvet, a gift of peaceable intentions.

He smiled softly, and accepted with grace. But it was a stretch, with how far he lay from you.

“Oh, come here,” you said, and draped your arm over his lithe waist, drawing him closer to you. A little wine-tipsy and a little tired, a little cold, a little lonely, you nestled your cheek against his chest, your hands against warm skin beneath thin fabric.

Slowly, his arms wrapped around you too, and you breathed a soft sigh against his skin.

“Is this alright?” he asked carefully.

In silent response, you lifted your head, and kissed his pretty lips.

He reciprocated almost immediately, his kiss sleepy but tender, and you pecked his mouth gently once more. Then you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and touched the skin there with another caress of your lips.

“Tomorrow,” you whispered, and he ghosted a kiss upon your temple.

“I can wait for tomorrow,” he said.

And soon you both drifted off, you in warmth and contentment, and Brian dreaming of you.

[milknette]

chapter 05 - jagged stone

we’re making waves of conversation; got a rush of energy, getting high on humans.

tumblr month: @adrinetteapril​​

links: ao3 | ff.net chapter: previous | next

THE CONCERT arena is absolutely packed.

Marinette’s only too grateful that Nino’s apparent connections allow them to slip past the crowds of humans, noisily screaming and bumping over each other as they try to catch a glimpse of their idol.

Even seeing them all gathered together is more than enough to give her a headache, and she can’t help but wonder how Nino survives through, much less enjoys it all— after having proudly told her that he worked similar shows and events whenever he had the time.

“You like this?” Marinette tries to ask, although she’s quite sure her voice is effectively drowned out by the noise around her.

(Mermaids aren’t one for loud places: they like the peace and quiet of the ocean— all-natural sounds outside of the ‘synthetic’ music of the humans, which they argue isn’t anything more than noise.)

Nino responds like there isn’t any problem. “Doesn’t seem to make sense since I’m a merman, huh?” He shouts back, laughing as they navigate through the concert hall. “But I think there’s a lot of things that our kind brushes off too quickly without really taking the time off to appreciate it. So we keep missing out.”

“What do you mean by that—?”

He and Alya share a meaningful look, with the latter rolling her eyes and playfully nudging his side. “He just means that if you were more open, you’d probably enjoy yourself a lot more.”

Marinette doesn’t get to respond— or even ponder on that question, however, as they’re led through a guarded door, entering backstage.

It’s a lot more quiet and less crowded, though the area buzzes with activity; people either giving or taking orders, rushing around as they attempt to ready everything for the concert in half an hour.

“Come on,” Nino tells them, waving his hand forward. “I have to get ready, but Adrien’s somewhere around here so he can show you around.”

(They don’t have to look long— finding him animatedly speaking with a group of stagehands who altogether seem to hang on to his every word.)

“Of course,” Alya laughs lightly, as he notices the group come into view.

Adrien doesn’t even take a second thought before rushing over to them, evidently leaving a group of unenthused fans in his wake. “Alya, you’re here!” he greets, before turning toward the mermaid and smiling. “And Marinette— a pleasure, as alwaves. I’m glad you made it.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy to get her to go,” Alya responds instead, rolling her eyes. Then: “or would ‘beelieve’ it be more on-brand?”

Adrien laughs goodnaturedly. Marinette’s only trying to recall where the deepest trench is in their area.

(Just for reference.)

At that moment, a stagehand rushes over to Nino, holding a clipboard as he rushedly asks him to hurry over for a sound check.

“Guess that’s my cue to go,” Nino finally says; then, with a sudden (almost wicked) grin: “Alya, wanna see my setup?”

“What? I’ve seen your setup a thou—,” a nudge, then: “oh… yeah, I’d love to!”

“Adrien, you’d be good to show Marinette around right?” Nino asks, a cheeky grin on his face.

The two of them share a meaningful look, and after a brief second, Adrien nods, shyly smiling at the mermaid. “Don’t mind if I dew,” he replies. “Come on, I’ll shoal you around!”

Terrible. Terrible. Terribly cute.

Marinette nods, and they begin to go around the set. Adrien’s a great guide, and he easily navigates through the venue to show and explain to her the different tasks that are being done. (She’s trying to listen, really: but it’s much more interesting to watch him animatedly talk about something he evidently enjoys.)

Only because he’s being a good friend to her, of course.

.

.

“How have you never listened to Jagged Stone?!” Adrien’s clearly in shock, and she has to stop herself from laughing. “Who hasn’t even heard of Jagged Stone?!”

After some time going around, they take a break in a more quiet part of the stage area. And after a lengthy conversation about the concert, she’d accidentally exposed what Adrien had kindly called ‘the greatest sin of all time’.

“It’s not like we have Jagged Stone underwater!”

“But you’ve been on land for a month,” he rebuts, shaking his head. “There is no excuse that you haven't listened to the greatest musician of all time.”

“He’s human, he can’t be that great.” Marinette pauses, then rolls her eyes. “Besides, I think you’re being a little dramatic.” 

“And I think you’re not making the most of your time here,” Adrien argues. “Come on, you’re stuck with us humans for a year. You might as whale make the most of it, and give us a chance.”

(Marinette catches the pun, but she ultimately decides to ignore it.)

“I am making the most of it!”

“Really? So what have you done in your first month here?” She’s about to protest, and he continues. “Aside from this concert. Which Nino and Alya basically had to corner you to go to.”

Marinette pauses, then audibly hmphs, knowing she’d been caught.

“I’m just saying,” Adrien points out. “Not all humans or human-related things are inherently bad. Some of what we do is pretty cool.”

“Sure,” she replies dryly. “Like toxic oil spills, trash pollution, dynamite fishing, coral mining, canal-digging and dam-building… need I go on?”

“I mean, of course those things are bad— but you can’t just use that as a reason to hate on all land mammals as a whole,” he explains, then pauses briefly. “Though I do get the feeling of wanting to throw those kinds of people into the ocean. And if you ever do meet them, don’t worry; I’ll be your willing partner in coralime.”

Marinette feels her lips curve into a smile, and nods. “That was pretty awful.”

“It still made you smile, though.”

Can’t argue with that.

Then she takes a moment to think about the rest of his points, as her eyes wander off to the humans busily walking around her— seeing them working together to make something a reality. And she spares a moment to look at Adrien, who continues to prove that everything she’s ever known about humans was wrong.

(For the first time, maybe since ever, she doesn’t quite mind being the only mermaid in the room.)

The lights suddenly flash around them, and Marinette subconsciously grabs his arm in surprise.

He laughs. “Don’t worry, that just means the show’s about to start,” Adrien explains, before standing up. “Come on, let’s go and support Nino.”

Marinette prepares to let go of his arm, but he easily manoeuvres it in a way that they end up holding hands.

They’re holding hands.

He… they… 

?!!!?!?!??!

“What are you just standing around for?” He asks, smiling as she dumbly looks at their interlocked fingers.

“I— just— I— uh.”

His hands are warm, but the good kind: the kind that makes her want to melt in the absolute best way possible.

Adrien gently pulls her forward, the same expression on his face; something she can’t exactly describe, but is definitely two things: (1) something she’s never felt before, and (2) something she wants to keep feeling forever.

They walk together to meet up with Alya, and are consequently guided to a stage area where they’re able to watch the rest of the concert.

Alya looks at their linked hands, then stares at Marinette in a half-victory and half-I-told-you-so expression. 

She pointedly ignores it, and decides to try and enjoy herself.

Nino is wonderful. He plays a beat that reminds her of ocean sounds, and she can’t help but miss home with it.

When Jagged Stone comes on to perform, Marinette immediately pins his personality down to be loud and chaotic and nothing short of intense— playing something that mermaids would objectively call as nothing but absolute noise.

As he continues to beat down on his guitar and scream, however, Marinette begins to think that maybe she likes it.

She watches Alya and Adrien excitedly screaming back, with the former documenting the whole event on her phone. Adrien pauses to look at her upon noticing her gaze, offering one of the brightest grins she’s ever seen him give.

She’s wrong.

Marinette likes it a lot, actually.

[ellewritesathing]

Faking It  -  II

Summary: You’d done plenty of dumb things in your life, but the dumbest had to be picking Greendale’s latest bad-boy to pretend to be your boyfriend.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 2

Word-count: 2.6k+

A/N: can you guys believe there’s not an angsty air hockey gif on here? but seriously thank you for all the support for Part 1!! 

Tugging on your fourth outfit of the night, you reminded yourself that you’d been on dates before this - not dates with someone like Caliban, sure, but dates - which meant that you had no reason to be this nervous. This was just a date. Except that it wasn’t. This wasn’t just any date with any guy. It was fake, for starters, and it was with Caliban; dangerous Caliban that Billy was afraid of and Harvey hated. 

And Harvey didn’t hate anyone - it got in the way of his job as a golden retriever. 

But it was easy to see why Harvey hated him as you watched Caliban pull into the driveway in the most expensive-looking black BMW you’d ever seen. You hated him in that car. It had to be a racing car, one that Caliban had had a while and was familiar with judging by how easily he interacted with it. Maybe he was just easy with everything. Either way, he was walking up to your front door and you didn’t have time to dwell on it if you wanted to get to him before your parents did. 

“Okay, see you guys later!” you yelled out as you raced down the stairs, almost crashing through the door and into Caliban in your rush. Steady hands reached out to catch you before you could fall. “Hey, Abercrombie, you clean up nice,” you said with a smile. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“Ohhh, no you don’t,” your mom said as she rounded the corner and leaned against the doorframe. “I need a name and a plan.” 

Reluctantly, you let go of Caliban and turned to face your mom. In your most controlled and not-at-all-embarrassed voice, you said, “Mom, this Caliban. He’s Harvey’s cousin I told you about, remember?” 

“Huh.” Your mom tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. You couldn’t tell if it was the hair or the leather jacket that made her suspicious. “I don’t remember you ever visiting when you were kids.” 

“My mother left the family for California about eighteen years ago to get an abortion,” Caliban said. He was surprisingly non-confrontational as he spoke to her, considering the fact that he almost decked Billy within five seconds of seeing him - he was even smiling. “Nine months later and there I was: snot-faced and crying.” 

“And now the prodigal son returns,” your mom hummed. She seemed to have softened as Caliban spoke, but now she narrowed her eyes. “Be back by ten.” 

“Eleven,” you said, jutting out your chin slightly to come across a bit tougher. 

“I don’t think you understand how this works,” your mom said, feigning offense as she turned her eyes back on you. 

Before you had the chance to respond, Caliban’s hand slipped past your arm and hung in the air between you and your mom. An offering, sweet but ill-advised. “Ten it is,” he said. 

Your mom’s mouth quirked at the gesture but she shook his hand regardless. It looked like she squeezed it a bit tighter as she said, “Don’t get in too much trouble.” 

“If we do, we’ll call his mom,” you said, putting your hand back on Caliban’s arm and lightly pushing him down the porch steps. He seemed amused as he opened your car door, but he didn’t say anything, a fact that unnerved you as he buckled his seatbelt. “So where are we going?” 

“I thought we could go to the arcade and I could win you over with my stellar air hockey skills,” Caliban said, giving you a devious smile as his hand slid up to the ignition. The car roared to life under his fingertips as he finished speaking. “What do you think?” 

“I think I’m gonna kick your ass with my far superior air hockey skills,” you said, moving in your seat to appear nonchalant. “But I could be persuaded to go easy on you if you add food to this grand plan.” 

“Food is a given,” Caliban said, eyes focused on the road ahead. “But you should know-” his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror “-I’m not above cheating to get a win.” 

The airiness of his voice made your heart race, as did all the possibilities of how this night would go that flashed through your head. You were too preoccupied thinking about how this was probably the most attractive bad decision you’d ever made to hold a conversation, and Caliban was too preoccupied being an attractive bad decision to make small talk. 

As he drove, the street lights lit up his face and made you think of all the ways you’d capture this moment on canvas. Caliban’s soft curls contrasting with the hard lines of his bone structure, the shifting light drawing attention down to his lips. The same lips that were curling into a smile because his pretty blue eyes had caught you staring in their peripheral vision. 

Thank god he didn’t say anything. 

All Caliban did was merge into the fast lane and kick up the speed a few notches, but you did your best not to look at how his hand curled around the gearshift. Instead, you sighed dramatically and looked out the window. This view wasn’t as pretty as the pearly white grin he shot at you after catching you out. 

Caliban pulled into the arcade parking lot after about ten more minutes of you trying to slow your heart rate down. He was infuriatingly quiet as he shut the car off. How were you supposed to know where to go from here if he wouldn’t give you a hint? 

“So, you’re a real speed demon, huh?” you asked as you unbuckled and turned to him. 

He laughed as he unbuckled and shook his head. “I’ve been called worse. Do you want food first or are you ready to be completely and utterly destroyed in a game of air hockey?” 

“I’ll take my victory dinner afterwards, thank you very much.” 

As he got out of the car, you could have sworn you saw Caliban roll his eyes at your joke, but you didn’t mention it. Just like you didn’t mention the ten thousand thoughts that raced through your head when he held out a hand to help you out of the car. ‘To keep up appearances’ was his reasoning, and because ‘he’s not a total asshole.’

Your heart started racing the second you walked into the arcade, but you told yourself that was just because of the adrenaline getting you ready to win. Caliban started you off at one of the basketball games, effortlessly and annoying sinking every single ball through the net. Almost all of yours bounced off the rim.

Caliban laughed when you got frustrated and threw the ball so hard that it bounced against the back of the game and you had to jump out of its way to avoid being hit, bumping into him in the process. 

“Here, will you allow me to show you how to do it without injuring yourself?” Caliban asked, hands still holding onto you from when he’d caught you moments before. 

“So you can put your arms around me and get my heart racing like some teenage cliche?” you asked. 

His head tilted to the side as he pretended to think about it. “I make your heart race?” 

You felt your fingers starting to tingle so you untangled yourself before you started blushing. You picked up another basketball. “Are you going to show me how to do this or not?” 

“If the lady insists,” Caliban said politely with a smile that was anything but polite. 

He stepped behind you and put his hands over yours around the ball. He leaned down so he could speak directly into your ear instead of battling it out with the noise of the arcade. But that didn’t mean you heard a word he said as he moved the ball around in your hands and showed you how to position yourself to shoot your shot. 

“Ready?” 

“Totally,” you lied. 

Against all odds, your ball got nothing but net. You started jumping around to celebrate but you almost wished it had bailed so Caliban would keep holding your hand. 

After exhausting all the fun you could from the basketball game, you moved onto skeeball, guitar hero, and the racing games. Caliban was a pro at the racing ones, even if he looked way too tall for the pretend bikes, but you dominated at guitar hero and skeeball. He even managed to get you into one of those haunted house games that you hated with that silver tongue of his. 

And then came the moment you’d all been waiting for: The air hockey showdown. 

Caliban had the height and speed advantage, but you had one thing he didn’t: pure spite. Thanks to your spiteful secret weapon, you won the first round. Caliban won the next two, but he was too cocky and easily distracted by your jokes. You won that round (‘by default’) and now the two of you were all tied up. 

You weren’t going to sugarcoat it: This was intense. You didn’t want to lose and you couldn’t afford to be distracted by how attractive Caliban looked when he was trying to concentrate. The puck hit the side of the table and you leaned over to hit it back to Caliban’s side when someone made a pass at you. 

“Hey, what do you think you’re-” 

No matter how fast you thought you’d reacted to unwanted advance, it was nothing compared to how quickly Caliban reacted. One second it was you yelling at some jerk you’d never seen before, and the next it was Caliban throwing the jerk up against the nearest wall. He had a white-knuckle grip on the offender’s t-shirt with his forearm pressing into his throat. 

You weren’t sure who was more in shock - you, the jerk, or his friends - but you shot forward when it looked like Caliban was getting ready to punch him. 

“Woah, woah, woah!” You wrapped your hands around Caliban’s balled-up fist and pulled it down. “Abercrombie, calm down. You can’t hit him.” 

“And why shouldn’t I?” Caliban asked, pushing down even more with his forearm. “This little cretin-” 

“Because if you hit him, we’ll be thrown out of here and then we’ll never know who’s better at air hockey,” you blurted out. It was the only thing you could think of in the moment as you held onto his hand with your heart beating out of your chest, but it must have done the trick because Caliban loosened his grip slightly and the guy started squirming.

“Your boyfriend’s fucking insane-”

Caliban let out a low chuckle and let go of the guy’s shirt, moving his arm off his windpipe in the process. He dusted off the guy’s shirt. “You should thank the lady,” he said, leaning in a bit closer when he was satisfied with the state of the t-shirt. “She’s the only reason you’ve still got any teeth.” 

“I’m not thanking that b-”

“Okay!” You pulled Caliban back a few steps. “Come on, let’s just get out of here, okay?” 

“Yeah, just run away with your little girlfriend,” the guy sneered when he was surrounded by his friends again. He looked very sure that he had the upper hand when you stood between him and Caliban. 

You let go of Caliban’s hand and stepped forward. “You know what?” 

“What do I know, baby?” 

“You’re a slow learner.” 

He was still busy talking when you hit him so hard that you were pretty sure something in your hand was broken. It was hard to focus on the pain when Caliban was laughing and wrapping his arms around you to drag you out of the arcade and away from the jerk with a split lip. 

Your hand was throbbing by the time you got back to the car and Caliban sat you on top of the hood. Stopping your tirade of curses about that fucking prick only to swear when Caliban touched your hand, you realized that maybe you were overreacting. 

“How badly does it hurt?” Caliban asked softly as he uncurled your fingers, holding your hand gently. 

Your knuckles had gotten caught on his teeth and some of the skin was torn, nothing too gnarly looking just a bit scraped up. There would probably be a lovely bruise there in a few hours, but right now it was just stinging from bad form and inexperience. 

“It’s not that bad.” You tried to keep your voice casual as you opened and closed your hand. The worst of it was the skin between your pinky and ring finger, but the blood was minimal compared to what you’d come to expect from movies and comic books. “Just stings a little.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a better liar than you are a fighter?” Caliban asked, looking up from your hand to meet your gaze. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you suck at air hockey?” 

Caliban smiled but he didn’t engage with your attempt to feel better about yourself. “What do you say we get that slice of pizza, killer?” 

The drive to the diner was quiet, but it was an easier quiet than the one before. Logically, you knew this was a bad idea - dating a guy who can go from adorably competitive one moment to knocking out someone’s teeth the next was always going to be a bad idea - but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it for the hour or so you had left. You’d start thinking logically in the morning.

The two of you settled across from one another in a booth and minutes later you were sipping on your victory milkshake and munching on some fries. Caliban had a devil’s chocolate shake and hardly touched his burger. 

“So does Harvey hate you because you threatened to punch out his teeth?” you asked, trying to sound casual. 

“It really bothers you that my cousin doesn’t like me, doesn’t it?” Caliban asked. 

As a liar yourself, you could spot his deflection a mile away. You shrugged and waited for him to answer your question before saying anything else.

“Harvey’s family came to visit my mother and me one year,” Caliban said with a sigh. “Everything was going smoothly until his father implied that my mother was a whore. I’ve never had the best temperament, and eleven was a difficult year for me. Long story short, their car was smashed to bits by a baseball bat and mine was buried in the backyard, splintered and broken.”

It wasn’t that hard to believe; you loved Harvey but his dad was a real piece of work. Still, something didn’t sit right. 

“That’s all?” you asked. 

“Harvey had a, uh, one-sided summer fling when they visited,” Caliban said. “Lucinda didn’t feel the same way about him and tried to kiss me. Harvey caught the wrong end of it and hit me, not unlike how you hit our new friend moments ago.” 

“You kissed his first crush?” you asked, pulling a face. 

“She kissed me.” 

“Still, kind of a dick move, Abercrombie.” 

“I’m starting to see why he likes you so much,” Caliban said as he pushed his empty glass to the side. “Are you having second thoughts about our pretend relationship?” 

“I’m still thinking it over,” you admitted. 

“Let me know when you decide.” 

You let out a laugh and twirled your straw around in your milkshake, ignoring the pain in your hand as you did. Like that was a decision you’d be making any time soon. But maybe you didn’t have to. Maybe an epiphany would just hit you in the mouth like a pissed off teenager.

Part 3

Tagged: @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e​  @miss--moose​  @marrypuffsstuff​  @harryscarolinaa​  @igorsbby​​  @foji2000​​  @mschfavngz​​  @artaxerxesthegreat​​  @thxmagic​​  @strawberriesandknives​​  @xealia​​  @hotmessindisguise​​  @sweetrogers​​  @reheated-coffee​​  @shelby-x​​  @perseny-blog​​  @millie-753​​  @luneerius​​  @shizzybarnaclee​​  @lettherebelovex​​  @throughparisallthroughrome​  @ietss​  @thebookwormlife​  @mechanicalanimalz​

[bonscottintheimpala]

Can I make a request if it’s still open?💖what about something like y/n wants to seduce jimmy in the most effective way but she’s lost and asks other members of Led Zeppelin to give her tips and carry them out?😂 the result could be anything, like, some in vein others did great jobs, or he finds the attempts adorable, or he gets jealous or anything.

I think I did this already, so I'll copy and paste. 🙂

-

Moby Dick Is A Wonderful Song

(Word count: 1,567) EXPLICIT

-

You're with the band at the venue in Inglewood. It's March 27, the night of the band's final concert of the ‘75 tour. Tensions are pretty high in their dressing room; you can almost feel the anxiety and simultaneous excitement thick in the air. But, sitting on a sofa in the middle of the dressing room, you're distracted from the loud voice of Peter Grant shouting the time left before the show starts and Bonzo clashing on a tabletop by one very specific thing in the room.

Jimmy had come in slightly late, already wearing his dragon suit bottoms but not the top. And, of course, he had decided to put the intricately embroidered jacket on after you came into the room with Robert ten minutes earlier. You can't take your eyes off of the lean muscles moving over his shoulders as he takes off his shirt, tensing and relaxing when he replaces it with the dragon suit top. You jump when someone bumps your shoulder, and turn to find Robert giving you a knowing smirk.

"You aren't being very vague about that, (Y/N),” he teases, “If he was looking over here he'd tell that you were checking him out.”

You roll your eyes and smack him on the arm. “Shut up, Rob. If he was looking over here, I wouldn't be watching his back and dying about it. And besides, he doesn't really give off the air of being interested.”

“I've known him for a while. Trust me, (Y/N), he can look like he isn't interested even if he's just itching to get with someone.”

You sigh and turn back to Jimmy. He's sitting in a chair in the far left corner of the dressing room with his Les Paul in hand, tuning the strings carefully as not to break one. You notice his eyes flicker up to look at you for a fraction of a second, then he's back to his guitar. You know that Robert's right. You've only really known the band for two years, and Percy has been around Jimmy for a little over six. You're pretty sure the singer knows his bandmate well enough by now to understand how the guitarist works. Robert nudges you again to get your attention. The smirk is back on his face.

"I have an idea to see if he's into you. We try to be really cuddly and all that shit around him. Hopefully it annoys him enough to get him to do something.”

You raise an eyebrow, questioning the proposition. “Won't he think that I like you that way, though?”

Percy waggles his finger at you. “Yet another thing to tell you. If he wants someone and they don't seem interested, he'll end up letting them know that he's the interested one. Again, (Y/N), I've known him for a while.”

Yet another point well made. “Okay, then. How do we go about this? Just pretend that you're saying something risque to me and I laugh like a fucking idiot?”

"Exactly. Then at Moby Dick, you come back here and best case scenario he follows you, too.”

The plan seems to be working perfectly, because after a few moments of exchanging stories to make you laugh and Robert puts an arm around you, he brings his mouth closer to your ear. “Don't look now, but Jimmy just stared at me like he wanted to kill me. So safe to say it’s going very well.”

You nod. “So I’ll come back here right before Moby Dick?”

"It’d be a good idea to go back earlier. Maybe when he starts his solo during Trampled Underfoot. I'll tell him where you'll be and I'm sure he's going to come straight here.”

The two of you just knowingly smile at each other. Jimmy is actually into you.

-

It feels like ages until the solo of Trampled Underfoot finally starts. You and Robert had secretly decided on a signal for you to go back to the dressing room; he'd do his usual hair flip, but follow it instantly with a spin. Which, of course, was not exactly a major surprise. You've been watching the singer since there song started, hardly even blinking. Once he gives the signal, you practically run for the dressing room, but not before you just catch Jimmy looking at you as you do.

The wailing of Jimmy's guitar slowly fades when you get closer to the room, and it's completely silent once the door is closed behind you. It's kind of eerie; the lack of people and no hint of music gives you goosebumps that make you shiver. It's either that, or the anticipation of Jimmy hopefully joining you, but it's almost impossible to tell which. You lounge on the sofa where you had been sitting with Robert at least an hour and a half -maybe even two hours- earlier. Staring up at the ceiling is all you can really think of doing other than just pacing around.

If I'm just walking everywhere looking at things like I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, I'll look like a dumbass, you think to yourself as you keep your ears trained on the hallway outside, listening for any hint of footsteps that could be coming close. And then, after what seems like hours have passed, you can faintly hear the sound of someone almost sprinting down towards the dressing room door. Your heart starts to pound in your chest the louder they get, and it all comes to a stop when the door opens. Standing there, his long black hair sticking to his sweat soaked face, is James Patrick fucking Page.

Neither of you say anything for a minute, just stare at each other with wide eyes. Jimmy’s the first to talk.

“So…. Percy told me you’d be back here.”

"And did he say why?”

The guitarist steps forward so he can close the door behind him, still watching you. “He did. You two were pretty fucking sly about all that.” You stand up and can’t keep your breath from shaking as he gets closer and stands in front of you. “He didn’t, however, say exactly what the reason was for you to be back here.”

"I guess he thought it’d be nice to give us some time together. To just confirm if you actually do like me.”

"Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t? And after all,” he adds, his voice now slipping into a smooth and sweet tone that makes your breath hitch, “You know exactly what Bonzo’s drum solo gives time for. And which is why Rob will come here to let us know when it’s getting time for me to go back so I don’t miss anything.”

You nod before you start to move the dragon suit top from his shoulders with shaking hands. He notices because he asks, “Are you really sure you want to do this, (Y/N)?”

You laugh. “You have no idea how much. I'm mostly shaking because I'm so surprised you even came here.”

Jimmy holds your face. “We’ve taken up five minutes.” Your stomach goes light and your head seems to be an incoherent mess of thousands of words when Jimmy presses his lips to yours. The contrasting textures between his fingers is just as intense; the rough calluses on the fingertips of right hand tingle your skin as they trail up your spine under your shirt, while the opposite smooth of his left hand slide gently along your lower back.

It isn’t long until everything gets heavier. Your clothes are strewn on the rug covered concrete floor below the sofa, while Jimmy is on top of you with his hand between your legs. It’s obvious that he’s extremely skilled in the art of fingering, and you’re convinced without a doubt that it’s because of how much he’s played guitar.

He’s drawing out loud cries of his name from your mouth and has your legs shaking from the flow of sharp vibrations down from somewhere deep in your core that make the muscles below your stomach pulsate at a steadily faster pace.

And then everything is surging in strong waves out from the spot his fingers are inside of you and through your entire body.

The trembling that follows each flow of energy through you eases down to just intermittent aftershocks and then completely breathless relaxation that leaves your head light and eyes closed. You can’t help but only smile and sigh as Jimmy kisses you again with a sweet softness which makes your heart flutter. The guitarist turns his head towards the door as a knock echoes from the other side.

“Bonzo’s gonna be done in probably five minutes, Pagey, you should get in order and backstage as quick as possible.”

"Okay, Percy, I’ll be out in a bit.”

You open your eyes to look back up at him. “I think I’m actually calmed down enough to tell you that you’re very good with your fingers. Absolutely fucking incredible, I couldn’t even think straight for I don’t even know how long.”

Jimmy kisses your forehead before getting off of you and starting to redress. “And you’re quite loud, (Y/N). I’m glad I could satisfy so well.”

You sit up and pick your clothes up off the floor and begin to get somewhat presentable. “Would it be possible to continue after the concert back at the hotel?”

Jimmy shrugs the dragon suit top back on. “I think that’s a great idea that I will agree with. Now let’s get back to everyone else. And make sure to stay calm until we’re at the hotel.”

[quickspinner]

Beautiful Dreams - Ch 3 Dreams Worth Chasing

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | AO3

Marinette was on her way to pick up her missing folder, and Luka had a plan. Sort of. He caught himself chewing his freshly painted thumbnail and made a face (both at himself and the taste). He was going to be a wreck by the time she got here if he didn’t do something. 

Luka picked up his electric guitar and cranked his amp. Rocking out was always the best way to deal with nerves. He was breathing a little hard by the time he finished his own version of Jagged Stone’s Rock Giant but he was comparatively relaxed when a slightly timid knock sounded on his door. 

Okay. He could do this. He was smooth, no matter how much Juleka liked to pick on him. 

Luka opened the door and there she was, stylish and put together as always, and as always his heart stuttered in his chest. Her hair was looking a little windblown and a strand stuck to her lips. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him, and he didn’t miss the way her gaze flicked over his white t-shirt and black jeans, nor the faint color that tinted her cheeks. He tended to keep his arms covered when he was with his students, as the type of parents who could afford his rates were often the type who didn’t really appreciate tattoos, but he’d left his arms bare today just to see if he’d been imagining things at the market. He concluded a little smugly that he hadn’t and Marinette wasn’t put off by his ink at all. That gave him the boost he needed to stop staring like an idiot himself.

“Come on in,” he offered, stepping back. “I put it in the back so I wouldn’t lose it or spill anything on it, I’ll go grab it. Make yourself at home.”

“Last time I did that I fell asleep,” Marinette said wryly, and he laughed, wincing slightly at how it echoed in the hallway.

“I hope you’re better rested today,” he called as he reached for the folder where he’d left it on top of his dresser. 

“I wish. Was that you playing just now?” she asked when he returned with the folder in hand, and then answered herself before he could. “Sorry, that was a stupid question, of course it was you. It was good—I mean of course, you’d be good, you’re a teacher. I just—I’m a big fan of Jagged Stone and…” She seemed to run out of steam, blushing.

He’d thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach but the idea that her slip-up at the market hadn’t been just a fluke, that she was nervous because maybe she was just a little bit affected by him too was enough to make him feel sixteen again for the second time in as many weeks. 

“I’m a teacher,” Luka said, leaning one shoulder against the wall as casually as possible. “But I’m a musician first and the electric guitar’s always been my first love. I play every chance I get. I’m glad you liked it, I’m a big fan of Jagged Stone myself.” He held the folder out to her.

Marinette took it, her gaze on the floor. “He’s actually one of my oldest clients.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s impressive. Louis told me you worked for him, but I didn’t realize you’d been working with him that long.”

“It was luck that started it, really, but we’ve had a good working relationship. Not so much lately since he’s sort of semi-retired but…” She trailed off, blushing harder, and Luka gestured to a poster on his wall. 

“Louis told me you designed that one. He’s very proud of you. As he should be, I’m really impressed,” he said. “It’s one of my favorites.” He grinned back at her. “You’re really talented, Marinette.” 

She lit up red as a tomato and stammered something about needing to go.

“Of course,” he said, stepping back and motioning her ahead of him. “I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy.” That’s such a lie. I want to keep you forever.

He walked her to the door. Now or never, Couffaine.

“Marinette.” Luka took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to her. “If you’d like to hear more, my band is playing this weekend. I’d love for you to come.” 

“Oh,” Marinette said, taking the paper and unfolding it slowly to look at the flier. “I’m...not sure? I’ll have to see if I’m free.”

“I understand. Well, I hope you can make it.” He took a breath. “Maybe after our set is over, I can buy you a drink.” 

Her gaze snapped to his face and Luka did all he could to keep his expression relaxed and friendly, though his eyes were locked on hers. He shrugged slightly. “No pressure, just...if you feel like getting out.”

Marinette bit her lip and lowered her eyes, and then looked back up and smiled. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Great.” Luka smiled and opened the door for her. “Have a good week.”

She smiled back at him, blushing faintly. “Thanks. You too.”

He watched her get into her car, and then stepped back inside, shut the door, and leaned against it, all his breath rushing out with a whoosh. “Your move, dreamer,” he muttered. “Hope I see you Saturday. If you come, it’s on.” 

***

Luka went through his usual pre-show routine, and his body and mind readied themselves to sink into the music in response. If he had something different than usual dwelling at the corners of his mind, no one noticed, and no one spoke to him, his bandmates having long ago learned to respect his space before a show.

If there was any place at all that Luka could feel at home outside of his family, it was at the club. He’d practically grown up in the back rooms of clubs and bars and anywhere else they could find that had a stage and somewhere to plug in an amp, trailing behind his mother with Juleka’s hand held tightly in his. Anarka Couffaine was fiery and bombastic where Luka was quiet and calm, but once he began to take the stage, first by her side and later on his own with Juleka at his, it became obvious he was his mother’s son. The stage contained and tempered Anarka’s fire, taming it into something other people could share. It fanned Luka’s flame, giving him the energy to reach out, to connect, to give others a glimpse of the inner world he guarded so carefully.

If Marinette was out there, beyond the stage light and the wall of crowd noise, she would see him tonight. 

She’s here, he thought to himself as he picked up his guitar and stripped the strap over his head. She has to be. 

No way he was going to fumble it this time. He was in his element here, he’d made his choice, made his peace with it, and now there was nothing left to do but act.

Behind him, the count tapped out, and Luka played.

***

For once, the pounding of his heart didn’t stop when he stepped off the stage. Luka accepted and returned the fistbumps and backslaps and congratulations of his bandmates on an excellent show. He stowed his gear as quickly as he could, and grabbed the extra bag he’d packed.

There was only so much he could do in the small, cramped bathroom, but he got his stage makeup washed off, freshened up as much as he could, and changed his shirt. He redid his eyeliner and ruffled up his hair, before taking a deep breath. He tossed his bag in the back with the rest of his stuff, and went to look for Marinette.  

He found her faster than he expected, wearing a slinky red dress and her hair pinned up, standing at a table with a couple of other people. Luka lingered just a moment to prepare himself and then slipped through the crowd and touched her elbow. “Hey, Marinette. Glad you could make it.”

“Luka!” The smile she turned on him was blinding. “Luka that was amazing!” 

He grinned back, instantly captivated. “Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I loved it! Oh!” She jumped as the brunette next to her elbowed her. “Um, Luka, this is my best friend Alya, and I’m pretty sure you and Nino have met.”

“We have. Good to see you again, Nino.” He exchanged a handshake and a shoulder bump with the other man, trying not to sigh at this slight complication. He hasn’t counted on having to hit on Marinette in front of her ex-husband’s best friend. 

Not that it was going to stop him.

Nino gave him a neutral nod as he pulled back. “Hey Luka, long time no see. The band was sick.” 

“Thanks,” Luka grinned, and offered his hand to Alya. “Nice to meet you, Alya.” She took his hand and looked him up and down, but not like she was checking him out—more like she was sizing him up. Luka had been on the receiving end of the BFF stare too many times to be bothered. He gave her his blandest smile and turned to Marinette. “So, can I buy you that drink?”

Marinette’s cheeks pinked. “Sure.” 

He walked Marinette to the bar and let her order what she liked, and got a beer for himself. “So you liked the set?”

“I loved it,” Marinette smiled up at him. “The covers were cool but there were some original songs in there too, right? I really liked the one you did…” She gestured vaguely, forehead creasing in thought. “Umm, I think it went ‘not the right hand, not the right touch, but she always said I needed too much’? And it had that amazing guitar solo in the middle? That was my favorite.”

“Yeah?” Luka grinned, leaning against the bar. “I wrote that one, I’m glad you liked it.”

Marinette’s eyes went huge. “You wrote it? Like out of nothing?”

“More or less,” Luka chuckled. “I roughed it out and wrote the instrumentals, and our vocalist Jenner, he helped me work out the lyrics and the vocals. Only fair, really, since he had to sing it. I can usually put the melodies together on my own, but I always have to have some help with the words.”

“The melodies were so evocative and emotional though,” Marinette said, picking up her drink as the bartender delivered it. “The words are just the icing on the cake.” 

“That’s nice of you to say,” Luka picked up his beer and motioned Marinette to precede him back to the table. 

Marinette didn’t move right away, giving him an adorably pouty look that came with such sad eyes that it made him want to cringe. “You make it sound like you think I’m insincere.”

“That was absolutely not my intention, I’m sorry.” Luka sighed and drummed his fingers on the bar, trying to find a better way to explain. “People tend to...notice words more, I guess. When people talk to us about a song they usually talk about how the words affected them, or that they thought this or that thing we did with the instrumentals is cool or catchy. I don’t get a lot of people who talk about how the music itself made them feel. So, what I meant was, thank you. That’s nice to hear.”

“Oh.” Marinette tucked a strand of hair back, clearly processing. “Then...you’re welcome. I really do feel that way, especially…” she hesitated, tilting her head slightly as she looked up at him. “Especially when you were taking the lead. I mean, I’m no expert, but, um...wow. That was incredible, what you can do with that guitar.” 

It might be a shy, hesitant flirt, but he’d take it. He leaned into her space just a little, one hand resting on the bar next to her elbow. “Well, considering you’ve spent a lot of time around Jagged Stone—and don’t think I don’t know he’s not the only musician you’ve worked with—I think I’m very flattered, expert or no.” 

He couldn’t quite see if she was blushing in the blue light coming off the bar, but he was pretty sure she was as she stammered something about getting back to the table and turned quickly, nearly tripping in her haste to put some space between them. Luka caught her arm to steady her, and rested just his fingertips on her back as he tried to shield her from some of the jostling of the crowd as they wound their way back to the table. Once over her initial fluster, she leaned back into his protection almost automatically, tucking her petite figure against his side when things got a bit tight. 

When they got back to her friends, Marinette excitedly recounted their conversation. It wasn’t quite enough to make Luka blush, he knew what his strengths were, but it did make it easy to keep a smile on his face. 

As Marinette talked on, Alya fixed Luka with a stare. When there was a lull in the conversation, she said, “Marinette, why don’t you go grab us another round.”

Marinette frowned. “Alya, nobody’s even finished—”

“Food,” Alya declared. “Get us some food. Please.” She reached over and slid Marinette’s glass in front of her. “I’ll watch your drink. Shoo.” 

Marinette rolled her eyes and stood up. “Rude,” she sniffed. “You better not ditch Luka all by himself while I’m gone.”

“Of course not!” Alya promised.

Luka frowned, wanting to offer to go in Marinette’s place, or at least to go with her, but it was obvious that Alya just wanted Marinette out of the way. If that was the case he might as well sit here and get it over with. The crowd was clearing a bit as the DJ got rolling, people pressing toward either the bar or the dance floor, so she’d probably be okay.

Sure enough, as soon as Marinette was out of earshot, Alya rounded on him. “So what’s the deal? Are you into my girl or what?”

Direct. He could appreciate that. “Yes.” He lifted his bottle to his lips, watching Marinette over Alya’s shoulder trying to make her way through the crowd. 

“Like a house and picket fence interested or like take her home and fuck her brains out interested?”

“Alya!” Nino hissed, looking horrified.

Luka barely managed to swallow before he laughed, putting his drink back down. “Both.”

“Oh my God,” Nino groaned, putting his hands over his face.

Alya grinned. “Good answer, Blue.”

“It’s Luka,” he said, amused. 

“Make it past the second date and I’ll consider remembering that. So you teach music for a living?”

“I do all kinds of music for a living, but my steadiest income comes from my students, yes.”

“And you’re okay with being a stepdad?”

“You really don’t have to answer any of this,” Nino broke in. “Alya, come on.”

Luka ignored him. “Totally. Louis is a great kid and I like him. Honestly I didn’t have the greatest example in the dad department myself, so it’s a little scary, but I can deal.”

“Would you want more kids than just Louis?”

“Sure, I’d be open to that someday. Though I’d want us all to get settled with each other first before we brought a baby into the mix.” Luka sat back and let Alya continue giving him the third degree, refusing to answer only a few very personal questions. Finally she folded her arms and regarded him thoughtfully.

Luka smiled. “So, do I pass?”

Alya snorted. “If you can live up to half of what you just said I’ll gift wrap her for you myself.” She leaned forward. “Take advantage of my girl and I’ll kill you. Push her into anything before she’s ready and there are no words for the kind of hell I will put you through.”

“Noted,” Luka replied without any change of expression. Alya gave a nod and stood up.

“Listen, be blunt with her. She’s terrible at flirting. You have no idea how many men hit on her and she never even noticed. If you just hint around like you did with this, even if you think you’re being obvious at the time, she’ll convince herself it doesn’t really mean what you’re trying to mean. Now I better go help Marinette or we’ll be waiting here all night.”

“I can’t believe you let her grill you like that,” Nino said as Alya walked away, his eyes glued to her...back. 

“It’s not the first best friend interrogation I’ve been through, although that was one of the more entertaining,” Luka grinned, propping his thick boots up on the currently empty chair next to him. “It’s usually easier to just go with it. What’s the harm if it gets her on board?”

There was no answer, and Luka looked over to find Nino regarding him soberly. “What?”

“Nothing, just...I thought you and Adrien were friends, dude.”

“We are.”

“You won’t be any more if he finds out you’re dating Marinette behind his back.”

“I’m not doing anything behind his back. If she actually agrees to go out with me, I’ll call and tell him myself.”

“He still loves her.”

Luka shrugged. “She still loves him too. You can see it every time she talks about him. But they’re done, and he doesn’t get a say anymore. And honestly man? If it was you and Alya was Adrien’s ex-wife, would it stop you?”

“You think you feel about Marinette like I feel about Alya?”

Luka looked across to where the girls were working their way back across the crowd. “Hell yeah,” he breathed. 

Nino blew out a long sigh, and lifted his glass. Luka clinked it with his bottle and they both took a long drink. “Then I guess, good luck, bro.” 

“Just do me a favor and don’t say anything to Adrien yet, okay?” Luka said. “I’m not asking you to lie to him if it comes up, but just leave it alone for now. She could still turn me down and I don’t want to cause a big shitstorm over nothing.”

Nino eyed him. “You’ll tell him before you two go out?”

“Absolutely.”

Nino sighed. “Okay.” 

The girls finally returned, setting an assortment of bar food on the table. “Dance with me, Nino,” Alya ordered.

“Yes ma’am,” Nino sighed, standing up with a put-upon air but a smile on his face. 

Luka watched them go and then turned back to Marinette as she settled back in her chair. 

“So,” Marinette sighed. “How bad was she?”

“Pretty bad,” Luka chuckled, and Marinette giggled nervously. “I didn’t mind though, she’s just looking out for you.”

“Sorry, I told her it wasn’t like that, but—“ she gestured vaguely, not meeting his eyes. 

Score one for the BFF. Blunt it is then. “What if it was like that?” Luka leaned his elbows on the table and tilted his head so that he was looking up at her. “What if I was hoping you’d come out tonight so that I could ask you out without being totally unprofessional?”

Marinette went red as a cherry and her mouth opened and closed and nothing came out. 

“I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I’d really like to change that.” He put his hand out, palm up, on the table. “So if you want, we can talk some and maybe dance a little and then, if you’re feeling it, I could take you out for coffee tomorrow?”

He could see her swallow. She looked like a deer in the headlights and he wondered if he’d been a little too direct. Luka withdrew, sitting back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I won’t bring it up again.”

“No, I, it’s j-just, I mean I’m divorced and I have a k-kid and—and—“

“I know all that already,” Luka said gently, leaning forward again. 

“But—But I’m boring and you’re all dyed hair and tattoos and you can play guitar like that and—why would you want to go out with me?”

Luka’s smile spread slowly across his face. “Well that sounds like something we can talk about over coffee. If you’d like.” 

Marinette bit her lip and blushed, looking away, but he could see the smile tugging at her lips. "Coffee sounds nice," she finally managed, giving up on containing her smile. 

"Do you maybe want to join Nino and Alya on the dance floor?" he suggested. They both looked automatically towards the couple on the dance floor, only for Luka's eyebrows to raise and Marinette to bring a hand up to cover her jaw drop. 

"On second thought," Luka amended. "Maybe we'd better leave them to themselves." He coughed, trying to keep back his laughter. "Damn, I'm not sure whether to feel sorry for Nino or high-five him." He and Marinette exchanged a look, and they both broke down in a fit of laughter that lasted several minutes. 

***

When Marinette walked into the little coffee shop the next day, Luka had to slide his gaze away for a moment, trying not to remember how she looked under the club lights, her red dress swirling around her thighs when Alya had finally convinced her to dance while Luka and a still-flushed Nino watched from their table.

She was lovely in a different way today, soft and sweet in a peasant style top over jeans, her hair flowing loose around her shoulders. Luka was just as glad to be spared the distraction of her bare neck, though God did that loose hair make him want to tangle his fingers in it. 

He swallowed and managed to greet her in a mostly normal voice. “Can I get you something?” he asked her, but Marinette set her purse down and shook her head. 

“I’ll get it,” she smiled, and went to the counter to order. She didn’t ask for it to go, which he thought was a good sign. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Luka asked when she came back and sat down at the table. “I hope we didn’t keep you out too late last night.”

“No, I’m fine,” Marinette said, waving her hands. “I’m kind of a night owl anyway, at least when Louis is with Adrien. Usually I’m designing and not dancing, but I had fun last night. A lot of fun. And the band, that was really great, I‘m really glad you invited me. ”

“That’s great to hear,” Luka smiled. “Have you thought about what we talked about?”

“I…” Marinette blushed, but went on bravely. “I like you, Luka. I think I’d like to go out with you. I just…” She chewed her lip.

“Go on,” Luka said gently. 

“I’m worried about Louis. And…” Marinette tapped a finger on her cup thoughtfully, staring at the table. “I’ve been with Adrien since we were kids. I’m not sure I even know what grownup dating looks like.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her eyes shot to his, like that was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Luka smiled at her. “I think it’s sweet. You were in love, you took a chance, and you gave it your best.” He took her hand carefully and squeezed it. “Listen, my sister and I were raised by a single mother, so I know at least a little bit about where you’re coming from—more than a little bit about where Louis is coming from, and I promise you I’ll be as sensitive with him as I can, and if we need to work with his therapist to figure out how to approach this with him then I’m absolutely willing to do that. But let me make something perfectly clear, Marinette. There is nothing wrong with you. You’re not leftovers or damaged goods or whatever other awful words that roll around in your mind when you hear the word divorce. You’re not a failure, you’re not a mistake, you’re not stupid for taking a chance on young love, and you are so far from being unloveable. Okay? And even if you decide that you don’t want to be with me, I don’t want you going into any other relationship thinking any of those things. So what if you don’t know what so-called ‘normal’ dating is? It’s not that big of a deal to ask a guy what that looks like to him and expect him to be honest back. There is nothing wrong with you. You are successful and smart and pretty and a great mom and there are a million guys out there who would fall all over themselves to date you. I’m just lucky enough to be the first in line.”

She stared at him, and he thought he saw a shimmer in the dim café lighting. Luka squeezed her hand and let go, standing up. “Tell you what, I’m gonna give you a minute. I’ll bring us back some pastries or something.”

When he got back to the table, Marinette looked a little more composed. “You’re very upfront with your feelings,” she observed quietly as he sat down.

“I try to be,” he agreed. “Partly because I’m not really that great with words and when I beat around the bush I end up creating a lot of misunderstandings. I’m not scaring you off, am I?”

“No, it’s just...I don’t think I’m as brave as you are.” Her gaze slanted away.

Luka touched the back of her hand. “May I?” She blushed and nodded, and he took her hand. “That’s all there is to it, Marinette. Just one decision at a time.” He held out his other hand. “It’s up to you.” She put her other hand slowly in his. “And if it’s too much and you change your mind, that’s okay too.” He opened his fingers so that he was just cradling each of her hands in his loosely. “You have a creator’s hands.” 

Marinette huffed. “Rough and scarred up?”

He grinned. “Just like mine. Although I would have said strong and capable.” 

She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I don’t think we compare. You’re a teacher and a musician. I just make clothes.”

“Art is art, Marinette, and don’t sell yourself short, I may not know much about fashion but I know that you don’t get a position like yours just because you can sew. And I doubt making clothes is all you do. You must have other interests. Can I ask about this?” He turned her hand slightly so that the ladybug tattoo was facing upwards.

“Oh,” Marinette said, blushing. “That was just—it was stupid.”

“I don’t think I believe that,” he said lightly. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I know tattoos can get really personal.”

Marinette’s eyes slid away. “Maybe sometime, just...not now.” 

“Sure,” Luka said easily, letting her turn her hand in his so the ladybug was out of sight. “So tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

“Oh. Um,” Marinette frowned for a moment, thinking, and Luka’s mouth twitched as he tried not to smile at how seriously she took the question. “My father’s a baker. He and my mother own the bakery on Rue Gotlib, and that’s where I grew up. Sometimes I still design cakes for my parents, just for fun.” 

He listened to her talk about her family, and volunteered information about his. “My father’s never really been in the picture,” he told her. “Oddly enough we’ve gotten closer since my mom passed, but he travels a lot, so I only really see him every once in a while when he’s in town. My sister lives here, though, and we’re really close. I think I told you she and her wife just had a baby about a month ago, so that’s been a bit of an adventure for all of us.” 

“I remember those days,” Marinette said sympathetically. “It’s a huge adjustment for everybody.” 

“They’re doing great with it,” Luka said, smiling fondly, pulling out his phone, and pulling up a picture. He and Juleka leaned over Rose where she lay in a hospital bed holding up a little pink bundle for the camera. “That’s my sister, and that’s her wife Rose, and that’s Angelique.”

“Oh, how sweet,” Marinette cooed, leaning closer, and Luka swiped through a couple more pictures—he and Juleka hugging, him holding the baby, Rose and Juleka asleep on each other side-by-side in the narrow hospital bed—until he found a close up of Angie. “She’s precious.” 

“She’s been a light in our world this past year, just getting ready for her and watching her grow in the sonogram pictures,” Luka said, putting away the phone a little reluctantly. “I painted the nursery three times because Rose couldn’t pick a color and I don’t regret a second of it.” Marinette giggled, a hand over her mouth, and Luka smiled at her. “I try to get over and see them as often as I can without being in the way. She’s just learning how to smile now.” 

“Ooooh,” Marinette swooned, putting her hands to her chest. “When Louis was that age, Adrien used to—” She broke off and bit her lip. 

Luka’s expression didn’t change. “Go on,” he encouraged. 

She did, haltingly, and it took a few minutes to find their rhythm again, but then it began to flow. Marinette seemed to find it easier to talk about other people rather than herself, a fact Luka filed away for reference. It was funny, the way she talked about her friends and Louis and even her assistant at work while only just touching on her own thoughts. Luka didn’t press, content for the moment to learn about whatever part of her life she felt comfortable sharing.

“I have to go soon,” Luka said regretfully, checking the time. “I do actually have some students today. So, how are you feeling about a date?” He leaned his elbows on the table, trying to keep his tone casual. “I’m thinking maybe we could check out a museum and a café?”  

“That—“ Marinette took a deep breath, and then smiled. “That sounds really nice. I’d love to go.”

Luka grinned and they both pulled out their phones and hashed out a time and place. 

“It’s a date then,” Luka said, once everything was settled. “I have to go now, but...I’m really looking forward to it.” He reached over and tucked a lock of hair gently behind her ear, letting his fingers brush her suddenly blushing cheek lightly as he drew back. “See you soon, Marinette.”

“See you soon, Luka,” she said shyly as he got up from the table. He glanced back with a smile as he opened the door, and the little ladybug danced as she waved.

***

“Hi Luka. I got your message. What did you need? I thought the lessons were going well.”

”Hey, Adrien. Sorry to bother you but I...kind of need to talk to you about something. You’re probably not going to like it.”

“...You’re not calling to talk to me about Louis, are you?”

“No. I’m calling to tell you I’m taking Marinette out this weekend. On a date.”

“...”

“Adrien?”

“If I say I’m not okay with it?” 

“Then things are going to be rough for a while, because I’m not disrespecting her by asking for your permission. It’s not up to you, man. But I didn’t want you to find out from somebody else and think I was hiding it.”

“I might appreciate that eventually. I’m having a bit of trouble mustering any appreciation at the moment.”

“I understand. I know this sucks, man. I’m sorry for that.”

“Not sorry enough to back off.”

“Would you?”

“God, I really hate you right now, Couffaine.”

“Understood. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | AO3

[appiecorps]

Strange Bird - john lennon

I love you, always. Time is nothing.

— audrey niffenegger, the time traveler's wife

The room is dimly lit and cigarette smoke is thick in the air. Chairs are scattered about and wires lay across the concrete floor. Her eyes follow them up to where they're connected to amps and guitars. Empty beer bottles  are everywhere; it looks like they've just finished band practice.

The room is quiet except for the sound of a single guitar, it's notes ringing out. It sounds like a melancholy tune, lazily plucked and not completely on beat. John sits in the corner, face stern as he stares at the floor. He's in a mood.

"It's been months," he says without looking at her. She jumps a little in surprise, unaware that he had even noticed her presence. Even as her feet pad across the floor, he doesn't turn to her. Her heart sinks. It's not like she blames him. Their situation isn't very fair, it never has been. John has never been at fault for that, only her.

"Has it?" she asks gently. When he doesn't respond, she tries again, "I'm sure the visits will grow shorter."

The following silence begins to scare her. There's something else he isn't telling her, something more jarring than their time spent apart. It always upsets him when he doesn't see her but he always showed some understanding. He had always been happy to see her.

"John," she says, voice weak from her uncertainty. "What's wrong?"

He's tired of waiting for her, she thinks. He's tired of this, of them.

Finally, his head rolls to the side and he looks up at her from his seat. There's no light in his eyes, no expression on his face. He's hiding from her, wearing a stony mask that's impossible to read. It's his best defense.

"You were wearing a wedding ring," he says flatly. "Before."

"Oh." Blood rushes and her cheeks burn; there's no reason she should feel embarrassed, she reminds herself. She doesn't want to have this conversation with John, assure him that it had been nothing, because it wasn't nothing was it? He saw her and she was married. But to who?

"Curious about the lucky fella?" John asks as if he could read her thoughts. He could always read her so well. He watches her for a moment before his eyes fall back to the guitar in his hands. "I couldn't tell ya if I wanted to," he admits bitterly. "Another one of your secrets, I suppose."

"You can't be mad at me for something I haven't done yet," she finally exclaims. His gaze shoots back to hers and he sees her building frustration, sees her eyes shining with unshed tears. Her hands are clenched at her sides as she says, "I don't know any more than you do, John."

He sniffs. "Who's fault is that?" he asks.

It's a difficult relationship, her's and John's. Whenever she does see him, she can never know exactly where they stand, she never knows exactly what they are. It's always just been enough to be with him, in whatever way possible. But this isn't doing it for her. He's back to ignoring her and she can't stand it; she turns on her heel and walks away.

His head snaps up.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"I don't know how long I have," she says, voice shaking with anger, "but I'm not spending it here fighting with you." Suddenly, she feels his hand on her wrist stopping her and pulling her back to him. Turning, she bumps into him and he steadies her by placing his hands on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he snaps. Taking a deep breath, his eyes falls closed and he says more gently, "I'm sorry, okay? Don't go."

She pouts before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his torso. It's been awhile for the both of them. His arms around her feel warm and heavy, they seem to hold her down to the earth, to him. She can't help the sigh that slips from her lungs as she rests against his chest.

"What year is it?" she mumbles, burrowing further into him. No matter when it is, she's glad they've progressed far enough in their relationship to allow this. It's still all new to her; is it new to John as well?

"1961," he tells her. It's later than she thought. John is twenty-one years old. Remembering his anger towards her wedding band, she thinks perhaps they have grown closer than she realizes.

    . . .

    They have a set of rules to follow. It's a tricky thing, time travel, especially when one is not in control of where or when they end up. Wynny tells him that it sneaks up on her, a feeling of drowsiness, her vision spotting before going dark. And then she's gone, disappeared from her own timeline and thrown into another. And there he is, waiting for her. It's just always been like that. It might seem strange to some but it's all quite normal to John by now.

Somehow, he's always there when she travels, whether it's ten years into the past or ten years into the future. How far forward she goes, he doesn't know. She won't tell him. It's one of the rules.

It's a drag having to wait around for her. Because it's not something Wynny can control, she simply pops in at random moments throughout the years. John would like to find her, to meet her, to see her everyday in her own timeline. But Wynny won't let him. It's one of the rules.

Wynny assures him that things work out in their own time. Wynny knows what's in store because it's already happened for her. But Wynny won't tell him.

    . . .

    It's late at night and John is weary as he walks to his car. Long day, boring day, tiring day. He'll go to sleep tonight and repeat it all in the morning, that's how routine his life has become they've come home from touring. He's so frustrated with himself that he hardly expects to see her walking down the street.

"Wyn?" he asks in surprise. He's not sure if she hears him and he's not even sure that it's truly her. He had only gotten a glimpse of her face before she continued down the street, walking in the opposite direction. But something tells him that he isn't mistaken; something tells him that this time is different. "Wynny!" he cries out, and he jogs towards her before she can disappear out of sight.

The girl slowly turns towards him, her beautiful eyes opened wide in confusion.

This is it, he thinks, heart soaring. This is their first meeting, when everything begins for her, when their life together can finally begin.

But then she doubles over, hands clasped together and pressed against her chest as she starts to gasps. He thinks she's having a fit of some sort, perhaps she's sick and worry clouds his mind as he races towards her. But then she lifts her head and cries, "Oh my god! You're John bloody Lennon!"

He slows down, his flight instinct beginning to kick in.

"Oh my god," she cries again as he puts his hands up, trying to shush her.

"Alright, alright," he hisses, looking around in case of other frantic fans. What is he supposed to do? The love of his life is a mess in front of him; she doesn't know him yet, outside of his association with the Beatles. He spent years imagining how their first meeting would unfold but he had never pictured a scene like this.

"If you stop crying, I'll buy you dinner, eh?" he tries. Wynny sniffles and looks up at him with wide eyes, eyes that are so familiar and strange at the same time. Damn the girl for doing this to him. He sighs, accepting that he's a love struck fool and says, "Alright then, come ed'."

    . . .

    When he walks into his apartment later that night, exhausted and tense, Wynny is there waiting for him. It's not the best time, he thinks, after he had spent all evening with her driving him up the wall. But this is his Wynny and she's beautiful.

"You're a bloody lunatic," he still snaps, even as he inhales her scent, drowns in her gaze.

"I was a fan," she carefully corrects. With a laugh she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a kiss. He begrudgingly reciprocates, lips sliding against hers, arms holding her tightly to him. Her body molds against his, and they fit together like puzzle pieces.

And Wynny, she thinks of this night when she was so young and so nervous when meeting her idol, her crush, her love. Looking back on it, she clearly remembers his aggravation; she hadn't been sure why he had wasted time on her. But now she understands, and no matter what his mood had been like, he had still come back home to her.

    . . .

    John punches the numbers into the phone, and listens to the ring as he waits for her to pick up. It's another bad day in the studio, with bickering and arguing and George storming out. The theatrics are quite boring by now but John still needs to hear her voice. It always works wonders on his nerves.

The phone is still ringing when he hears her behind up, her quick inhale as she gasps in surprise.

"You always seem to know when I need you," he says with a huff of laughter as he hangs up the phone and turns towards her. What he sees, however, makes him pause. The girl looks terrified, with wide us and her jacket clutched tightly around her shoulders.

"Where the bloody hell am I?" she asks, eyes darting around the studio. John brings a hand up to rub at his eyes.

"Christ," he mutters.

"John Lennon?" she says, sounding a bit unsure. He looks different from her time; he's older, sporting eyeglasses and facial scruff and longer hair.  Still, she's familiar with his face, and knows who stands before her. She would recognize him anywhere, in any time. "You knew me," she says, this time more confidently. "That's why, when we met, you were acting so strange."

"Yes, yes, I know you," he groans. It's cruel of him to act so frustrated, and he immediately wishes he had said it with more kindness. The past weeks weighs heavily on his shoulders, he's been more irritable than usual. Even his Wynny had noticed.

"I'm sorry," he says gently. "This must be overwhelming for you, eh? Maybe you'd like a cuppa? Lets sit, yeah?"

He's pulling a chair out for her (an old rusty one that's been left out but it's something to get her off her feet) when the phone starts ringing.

Wynny sits but watches John closely as he accepts the call and speaks softly into the receiver.

"Yeah, love," he says into the phone, glancing over at Wynny. "I'm a bit, er-" He continues, but more quietly and Wynny can't hear anymore.

"Is that your girlfriend," she asks glumly when John returns to sit with her. He leans back in his chair and smiles, eyes lighting up with amusement.

"Me wife, actually," he replies.

Wynny kicks her feet against the floor and wonders how she's going to get back home.

"There's some things you need to know," John tells her, his voice lacking the usual teasing tone. "There are rules we have to follow. And no matter how grumpy I may be, no matter how confused, you must make sure we follow these rules, Wynny. Time travel is tricky business."

And for her, this is how it all begins.

    . . .

    The night is warm. John sits on the curb of the street where it happened and wraps his arms around his pulled up knees. His face is raw where he repeatedly rubs the tears away, his nostrils sore where he dries his nose. The crying fit has mostly passed now, but his breathing still hitches as he pictures his mother and the car and the fear.

She says his name softly and for a moment he think it's her, his mother returned to him. His heart drops in his chest and he gasps, head jerking towards the woman who called out for him.

And when he sees that it's Wynny, disappointment crashes through him and the tears return.

"John," she repeats, and he can hear the crack in her voice. "Love, I'm so sorry." Her hand rests against his shoulder, and she feels him shuddering underneath her touch.

"You knew," he says through gritted teeth. "You knew it would happen."

The night is warm but she feels very cold. The way she freezes and her following silence confirms John's suspicions. She could have done something, could have said something but it always goes back to her fucking rules. And now his mum is dead.

"I'm sorry," she whispers again, feeling numb to the bone.

He sniffles and reaches into his pocket for a loose cigarette. Placing it between his lips, he pulls out a lighter and quietly says, "Go away. It's what you're best at."

Wynny doesn't move, frozen and shocked by his words. Does he mean it? He can't possibly. And besides, she wants to stay, wants to be with him as he grieves, wants to hold him and comfort him and-

"Did ya hear me?" he asks gruffly, turning his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. "Fuck off!"

His words, so loud and harsh, scare and she feels something deep in her snap. There's a sense of vertigo and then she's sitting on her sofa, back where she was before she had been thrown into the past.

"The babe says it time to eat," John says in a jolly mood as he enters the room holding little William in his arms. The smile on his face falls when her sees her shaking and in tears. "Wyn? What's happened?"

"John," she chokes out and he rushes towards her.

"Hey," he says as he sits down next to her. He manages the balance the baby in his lap while wrapping an arm around Wynny and pulling her to his side. "Hey, I've got you. I've got you, Wynny."

"I'm sorry," she whispers weakly, pressing her face into his neck. "Your mother." He grows suddenly still as he remembers that night, his anger and harsh words. It had been the only time he demanded she leave.

"That was a long time ago," he says. The two lean against each other, their baby giggling between them, oblivious to the heartache. Wynny reaches out, watching in awe as William wraps his tiny hand around her finger. And while her eyes are still cloudy with tears, she smiles.

    . . .

    It's the summer of love and John Lennon has never been more in love than he is today. It's a sunny day, bright and beautiful and the light shines through Wynny's hair. John can't keep his hands off of her, whether he's brushing her hair back or running thumbs down her jaw.

Today she is finally his. John will love her always.

Wynny dressed down for their wedding day, a simple white dress and just falls to her knees. She wears a necklace of diamonds, a gift from John, and her new wedding ring, another gift from John. Lovely bride, beautiful bride, queen of them all. He must be dreaming.

They're surrounded by friends and family, Pattie is dawning over Wynny's ring when Wyn suddenly stiffens and pulls back. She doesn't have much time but she manages to throw out some excuse, promises to return quickly, before dashing to John's side.

"John," she says, calm but through gritted teeth, her hand squeezing his arm.

He hums, lips still in a dopey smile, as he gazes at her. "Alright, love?" he asks. Her eyes are wide and she shakes her head and the urgency in which she looks at him is enough for him to understand. "No," he begs quietly, trying his best not to draw unnecessary attention from the others. "No, Wyn! It's our wedding day."

Her eyes flash. "I can't help it, can I?" she hisses. "Get me out of here!"

They manage to make it through the door before she's gone.

    . . .

    She can't be sure when it is. She usually has John to go off of, how he styles his hair, how he dresses, how he looks. But John is nowhere to be seen. It's a windy day, and her veil whips around her, obscuring her vision. Finally, she whips it off her head, glances around at the park around her. Parents are out with their children, watching them play and ride their bikes.

"Hello," a child says to her. He's tiny with knees scraped up from playing with the other boys. Wynny barely glances at him.

"Oh hello," she says, eyes still scanning the park. It's strange. John is usually-

"Looking for someone?" the boy asks. Finally, she looks at him. The boy has eyes like a hawk, trained on her, curious about the girl who appeared out of thin air in a pearly white dress short enough to make his mother gasp.

"Well, I-" she starts before cutting off. He's so small, younger than she's ever seen him. But she recognizes those eyes. Her lips part as her jaw drops in shock. Has John truly known her for so long? "No," she says slowly. "No, sorry." She cuts off, unsure what to say. She wants to tell him that he's smarter than he thinks, that he'll grow up to do great things, that kindness isn't weakness. She wants to tell him that life will be hard but it's so incredible as well.

But before she has a chance to, his friends are calling him back.

"Lennon!" they shout, and he turns his head to see them waving their arms, urging him to return and play. "Come ed'!"

And when faces back towards her to say goodbye, he sees that she's already gone. The park isn't very large but it's open space, and he sees no retreating figure. She had left just as she had arrived.

Strange bird, he thinks before turning back to join his friends.

He doesn't know it yet but for him, this is how it all begins.

[barefoot-joker]

Yandere!Professor Pyg X Reader One Shot

Hey, guys! Welcome back to another Yandere!Gotham One Shot featuring Professor Pyg! I went with the route of Pyg loving music so this might not be what you’re expecting but enjoy it anyway!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I smiled as the streets of Gotham were busy, it being a good sign for me. Deciding on the street corner on Main Street I set my guitar case down and opened it. Inside my mahogany wood instrument contrasted with the green velvet of the black leather case, the beautiful possession being an heirloom from my dad. Pulling it out I pushed the strap down over my head and allowed the guitar to sink into a comfortable position. Getting my hands into the right posture I exhaled and began to play, the soft tune being swallowed by the crowd. Quietly I began to sing in hopes somebody would stop by and drop some money into my case, the money going towards my rent for the month. It was hard being a street musician in this city as many people would come up and either steal my hard earned paycheck or turn away and scoff at both my skills and appearance. I'll admit I'm not the most attractive woman or have the most fancy clothes but I think what threw people off was the lack of multiple fingers and multiple scars on my hands. My dad had said it was because my mom had taken some pills she shouldn't have while she was pregnant with me and I would have asked her up front about it except for the fact that she ran off never to be seen by the two of us again. I closed my eyes and allowed my body to sway to the music, my eyes opening when I heard clinking in my case. I looked down to see a couple of quarters had been thrown in along with a dollar. You have to start somewhere. And so there I stood playing and singing, people throwing in money every once in a while. Around noon I moved to a different spot and continued my routine. By 1:00 I had made about $30 but I knew I needed to go to a different spot. As I was walking down the sidewalk someone bumped into me and in their rush took my guitar case with them. "Hey! Get back here!" Quickly I rushed after the man who had taken it, people cursing at me for pushing them. Rounding a corner I was close to catching the thief but he instantly vanished, the only thing telling me he was there being a few dollars I had made. Desperately I looked around but I couldn't find my beloved guitar anywhere. No, this can't be happening! In defeat I picked up the money that was on the ground, it adding up to $5. There was no way I was going to be able to pay rent now. With a saddened sigh I made my way to the GCPD, praying that they could help me. As I walked down the sidewalk I passed by a food stand, the employee shooing away a homeless woman. She seemed desperate as she pleaded with the young man but he was having none of it, him eventually smacking her. My eyes followed the defeated lady, knowing fully well that could be me. Looking down at the pocket of my jacket I knew what I had to do. "Excuse me, sir." "Oh, hello there! What can I get for you?" "I'd like one bowl of soup please." "Of course!" The young man worked quickly at pouring the vegetable beef soup into a Styrofoam bowl before plopping a slice of bread and plastic spoon in. "That'll be $5." I handed him the rest of my cash as he gave me the bowl, I nodding my head at him. "Thank you and please come again!" I turned away and spotted the woman, quickly heading over to her. "Excuse me, Miss. Here, you forgot this." I held out the foam bowl and I could see the hunger in her eyes. "Thank you honey, but a growing girl like you should have it." "No please, I insist." She was hesitant but took it in her hands anyway, thanking me once more. "It's no problem." "Bless you, child." She hurried off and I made my way to the GCPD. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I huffed angrily as I stormed out of the white building, anger evident in my soul. The cops I had talked to said there wasn't any need to help me as I was just a low life. In my rage I had yelled back and had possibly thrown a punch or two but was simply escorted to the front doors, the two cops watching me leave the premise. Scumbags. I fluffed my jacket and walked away, knowing fully well that if I saw another cop I would lash out. I decided it was time to head home and maybe listen to some cassette tapes to calm me down. I sighed as I looked up at the sky, grey clouds masking the Sun. Such a beautiful day ruined. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and continued my way till I reached my small apartment in the Narrows. Stomping up the rusty stairs I reached my apartment and unlocked the door, the dimly lit one room greeting me. Turning on a lamp near my bed I took off my boots and flopped onto the mattress. Sighing, my hand found my cassette player and I hit the play button, my dad's voice echoing in the room. My lip curled slightly as it played my favorite cover by him, the one he played before he left. I never understood why he left me to fend for myself at such a young age but I've overlooked it. My eyes closed as his guitar strumming lulled me into sleep. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It had been a few days since I had informed the police of my theft but they still hadn't given me any information about my missing instrument. I was starting to worry that I would never see it again and the note of one week till eviction on my apartment door didn't help at all. So in an effort to get rid of bad thoughts I took a walk around the city to clear my mind. Tonight the streets seemed barren as I roamed about, homeless looking at me like I was of the high society. Better start making friends. I rounded a corner and found myself near the Green Zone, cars parked everywhere along the sidewalks. Must be a couple of parties tonight. Stopping in the street I looked up at one of the windows with the lights on, my eyes following the silhouettes in the room. Classical music poured out of the window and I couldn't help but smile at the sound of Mozart. Suddenly I felt an arm wrap around my waist and before I had time to scream a rag covered my mouth. "Shh, my little piggy. Pyg has got you." I thrashed around in fear but the chemicals on the rag began to slow me down and before I knew it my vision had faded to inky black. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I groaned as my eyes fluttered open, my head pounding like never before. My surroundings were a bit blurry but after blinking a few times everything became crystal clear. I could heart my heart beat loud as I tried to stand, only to find my wrists were tied tightly to the arms of a chair I was seated in. Panic thrilled through my veins and began to freak out, my breathing becoming erratic as I struggled against my bonds. "Careful, my little piggy. We wouldn't want your skin to get chaffed." I froze as that voice came right from behind me. Hands laid themselves on my shoulders and I couldn't help the squeak that slipped out when the person sniffed my hair. The person let out a hearty chuckle and made their way into my vision, my eyes widening when I saw the person up close. They were a man with a pig's mask covering most of their face, his chin and mouth the only things exposed, and he seemed to stand proudly tall in his brown dress shirt and cream apron, the multitude of knives in it's front pocket making me gulp. "It's so nice to see you up close, Y/n. Watching from far away was starting to get a bit boring." He snorted which sounded like a pig, it adding to the creepy warehouse atmosphere. "W-Who are y-you?" "Professor Pyg at your service, my dear." He gave a bow and I couldn't help but gulp, fear crawling further through my body. "Why so afraid, dearest? I'm not going to harm you." "L-Listen, I think y-you have the w-wrong person. T-There are l-lots of Y-Y/ns here in G-Gotham!" "Oh I have the right person alright. There's no other Y/n that has such great taste with music." His gaze made me uncomfortable so I tried to curl up but my bonds wouldn't allow me to. I could see the anger in his eyes at my actions but he simply smiled and pat my leg. "I know something that'll cheer you right up." I watched as he walked away and into the darkness, returning a few moments later with a black case. "I know how much you've been missing this as it was your father's and it meant a lot to you so I recovered it just for you." The man opened the case and I couldn't help but gasp. Inside laid my dad's guitar all polished and shined up. It almost looked as if it was brand new. "W-Where did you find it?" "A dirty cop under Penguin's wing had it. Naughty boy. He should know better than to mess with something that isn't his." I was taken back by the possessiveness of that sentence. Who exactly was this guy? "I simply can not wait to hear you play! It will be nice to be the only one to hear you!" He squealed in excitement, it being an oink. "W-Why am I h-here, exactly?" "You, my dear, are here for your own good. I've seen the kindness you share with this city, the way you earn your living, the place you stay at. I've watched you play so many times, in fact every day I try and find where you are just to listen. You are so pure and yet nobody respects that. They all take and take and take but never give! Well it's high time that you get what you deserve...some gratitude!" He slammed the table I was seated in front of with his hands and I jumped, I not going to far because of the bonds. Suddenly my stomach growled and a pink hue overcame my cheeks. "Ah yes. The starving artist comes to light. You haven't eaten in a quite a while, have you dear?" I shook my head and he chuckled. "Well it's a good thing I made dinner. Wait right here~" He ran off and I took the time to try and get my wrists loose to no avail. The pig came back and set a plate of some kind of pie down along with a fork and knife. Looking at it the pie seemed normal but because of the situation I was in it didn't seem trustworthy. Professor Pyg picked up the utensils and began to cut into the dough, the smell of grease wafting into my nose. Done cutting he stabbed a piece of dough that also had some meat on it, him bringing the fork to my mouth. "Open up, dear." I shook my head and turned away. He growled and grabbed my chin before forcing the fork in my mouth, the food utterly disgusting. I attempted to spit it out but he quickly clamped a hand over my face so I couldn't breathe. Struggling to get air in I swallowed, the hand coming off which allowed me to gulp in oxygen. "What was that?!" "Simply the man who stole your guitar." I choked on my saliva. Did he say what I think he just said? "W-what?!" "He hurt you, dearest. You and this city. It was high time he got what he deserved and what better way to make him useful than for him to feed you." "Y-you're sick! L-let me go this instant!" I pushed and pulled against the ropes around my wrists, desperately trying to get free. "Now, now, my little piggy. You eat this lovely meal I prepared just for you and then afterwords you and I can make sweet music together."

[emberbent]

Book 1: Fire | Chapter 1: The End

In the heart of Republic City, it was a smoggy, humid afternoon. Through the streets trudged languid couriers with their empty rickshaws behind them; capuchin cats sought shade beneath the parked Satomobiles that lined the curbs; vendors called out their wares - mostly cold treats to combat the oppressive summer heat. 

The General’s Tea House, the high street’s most popular tea joint during on-season, was scarcely populated today. The place smelled of wilted jasmine and salty sweat. Two old men sat at the bar, ignoring each other, wasting the afternoon away. A handful of university students studied at one of the tables in the sunken main area in front of the stage.

“Nobody wants hot tea on a hot day,” Shinza complained behind the sheer curtain that partitioned the stage from the back of the house. “Let’s just bail and get some ice cream.”

Behind her, Nero had already uncased her flute. “We need the money,” she reasoned. “Let’s just get it over with, and then I’ll buy you a birthday drink.” She passed Shinza on the way to the stage, bumping hips with her friend for a little confidence. The two had been friends since their days as students at Republic City University; it seemed like they had graduated so recently, but when Shinza stopped to think about how long it had been since that day, and how the two of them, like many others their age, hadn’t ever really found their careers, a black cloud seemed to grow over her head. Expelling a deep breath, Shinza followed Nero out onto the stage, slipping the strap of her guitar over her head. If nothing else, at least she could get lost in the song for a moment.

“Thank you,” Shinza said as she stepped in front of the microphone, in response to the solitary student sitting in the corner table who’d whistled at them. “Thanks. This one’s an old favorite - we hope you like it.”

What Shinza loved about performing with Nero is that the two of them seemed to be two gears in the same mechanism, turning effortlessly together toward the same goal. Nero brought her flute to her lips, and Shinza strummed the first note. Together, they produced an airy, dreamy rendition of Secret Tunnel, one which caught the attention of the two old men at the bar, who by anyone’s assessment might not have been impressed by much at all. By the end of the song, the men and the lone student cheered, with the others applauding on autopilot, not daring to break away from the books in front of them. 

Shinza and Nero bowed to their audience, slipping backstage to rest their instruments and take a quick interlude at the bar. “So, birthday girl,” Nero purred, sidling up and climbing into a bar stool. “What’ll it be?”

Shinza, much taller than her friend, perched on the stool beside her and pretended to scan the menu, although they both knew what she would order. “Mmm… pear sake.”

“What a surprise,” Nero teased. Then to the bartender, she said, “Make that two, please.”

Shinza settled, taking in the atmosphere of the place - the shuffling of pages turning; the idle sounds of the students clearing their throats or tapping their pens. Beside her, Nero shifted in her seat. “You’re going quiet on me,” she noted. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know,” Shinza shrugged. “I mean… That’s a lie. I do know. I’m twenty-seven, and this is what I have to show for it? This is what I’ve been doing with my life?”

She’d known her art degree wouldn’t amount to much, unless by some stroke of luck she could manage to become a famous artist, or maybe end up teaching at the university she’d graduated from. But those odds were long, and the competition too strong for those odds to play out in her favor. It had been a risk that hadn’t paid off. Her parents would have happily paid for her tuition, if she’d chosen to be a doctor like her mother had done. But she hadn’t, and now she was saddled with debt from a degree she didn’t use. Feeling aimless was what had brought her and Nero together in the first place, and it was a continuing feeling that they lacked any real value in society that had created such a strong bond between them.

“Hey,” Nero sounded in that famous mom-friend tone of hers. “Look, just because some people are lucky enough to have a passion for something that makes them money in life doesn’t mean we have it so bad. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Besides - we may not be rolling in cash, but I love performing with you. That has to count for something.”

“I do too,” Shinza replied. “I really do. I hope you know that. It’s just… I feel like I’m doing this in the meantime, you know? Whatever that means. I don’t even know what I’m waiting for.”

Behind them, a man and a woman entered the teahouse; neither Shinza nor Nero paid them any mind as the bartender slid them a jar of hot sake and two tiny cups, until the two approached the bar. “Shinza Kwon?” said the woman. “We need you to come with us.”

As Shinza swiveled to face them, it was immediately clear that they weren’t from around here. They wore the garments of Fire Nation officials - which she only happened to know from the Contemporary Fire Nation Studies class she’d taken, and from pictures her father’s family had sent from Fire Fountain City. 

“Uh…” Shinza squinted at them. How did they know her name?” “I’m sorry - why?”

The woman and her partner, in unison, placed their knuckles into their palms and bowed to her. “Ms. Kwon, it’s recently come to light that you’re the Avatar. You need to come with us immediately; a lot of time has been wasted already.” Was this a joke? Had Nero set up an elaborate prank on her to cheer her up?

“Hilarious,” Shinza noted. She wasn’t laughing. “I’m not even a bender. You’ve got the wrong person.”

“You’re Shinza Kwon,” the man recited. “Graduate of Republic City University? Daughter of Li Kwon, a retired United Forces captain, and Desa Kwon, a doctor? You live at Eighteen Dichi Street, apartment–”

“Yes,” Shinza stopped him. She felt as if she were melting into her seat. Around her, not a single patron was looking anywhere but at her and the Fire Nation officials. Most of them were slack-jawed; two of them bowed reverently. “That’s me. But I don’t understand. How can I–”

“Time is of the essence,” the man pressed. “Please, we need to get you to your destination.”

Shinza stared them down, as if maybe by sheer force of will, she could find the answer between the two of them. “Can I see some ID?”

The woman rolled her eyes and groaned, unfurling the official scroll - which, by scanning, Shinza came to learn was the official documentation summoning her to the Island of the Sun Warriors - complete with the Fire Lord’s seal.

“Good enough for me,” she said weakly, slipping down off her bar stool, leaving Nero with their untouched sake. Her friend’s dark eyes were wide and round, as if Shinza were a ghost. The officials took Shinza by the arms and gently but swiftly led her to the door. The two patrons who had bowed to her hadn’t lifted their heads yet; one patron who stood by the door made a point of rudely bumping into the three of them as they exited the establishment. The two tucked Shinza into their Sato, parked along the curb; the engine was still running as the woman slipped into the driver’s seat.

“So, hang on,” Shinza sounded. “Where exactly are we going? I don’t understand how you could possibly think I’m the Avatar.”

“We have intel,” the man reported, as if that answered everything. “We’re taking you to the Island of the Sun Warriors so you can start your training immediately. You’re… very behind.”

“When? Like, now?”

“Yes. Right now.”

“But wait, what about my apartment? What about my capuchin cat?”

“We’ll make arrangements for you. Don’t worry.”

Panic began to swell in her chest as the Sato pulled out into traffic, going notably above the speed limit as they dodged other Satos, rickshaws, and people alike. “Can I at least say goodbye to my parents? So they know where I’m going? Please, they just live two blocks from here.”

The two officials looked at each other. “Fine,” said the woman.

They reached her parents’ apartment building, stopping along the curb. “Just hang back here. I’ll only be a second.”

“No. We’re coming with you,” said the man.

Shinza blinked at him for a second and then sighed as she opened the door and slid out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk. Whoever these people were, their job seemed strictly never to let her out of their sight. Before they entered the building, Shinza pressed the buzzer mounted on the bricks. “Mom? Dad? It’s me. Can you let me in?”

“Hi, baby,” said her mother’s voice. “Everything okay? Come on up.”

Was everything okay? Shinza felt dizzy as the officials led her through the door and into the elevator car. The confinement of the space seemed both to clear her head and make her even dizzier. At last, the bell sounded and the doors slid open, revealing her parents’ floor. Shinza led the officials to the correct door, and she rang the doorbell.

It seemed like days passed between when she heard the sound of the bell and when her mother finally answered the door. But when she did, as soon as she saw her Shinza framed by two Fire Nation officials, she grew pale, understanding in an instant what was happening. 

“Mrs. Kwon,” said the man flanking Shinza. “Your daughter is the Avatar. She requested we come visit you on our way to the Fire Nation.”

The door slowly swung open wider; behind her mother, her father caught sight of the three in the doorway. Despite his bad leg, using his cane, he found his way onto one knee, bowing reverently the way they did in his homeland. “Mama,” Shinza said evenly, despite finding herself suddenly blinded by her own tears. “I don’t understand.”

“Go with them, child,” said her father as he painstakingly made his way back to his feet. 

“But what about Bao? I’m going to lose my apartment.”

“Don’t worry,” said her mother, placid as the moon, as she wiped away tears with her long sleeve. “We’ll go get Bao. He can live with us.”

The man nudged Shinza. “We have to go.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Shinza called to both of her parents, although she wasn’t sure whether that was strictly accurate. Her parents gazed down the hall at the three of them from the open doorway, her mother blowing a kiss. “We love you, Shinza,” she said. “No matter what.”

Back in the Sato, Shinza wiped tears off her face, embarrassed at having let her emotions gain control of her, especially in front of two people she didn’t even know. As they pulled away from the curb, the city passed them by in a blur. Shinza felt somehow, despite having grown up here and being as familiar with the streets and the shops and apartments along them as the veins on the backs of her hands, she was suddenly a stranger here. The ride was silent for a long time as they left downtown and headed for the port, just on the outskirts.

The man turned around in the passenger seat to face Shinza. “I’m sorry this all happened so quickly. But you should know that you’re doing the right thing. You’ve lost a lot of time, but it’s not your fault. I’m Zhang, by the way, and that’s Mai.”

“Hey,” said Mai, chancing a glance at Shina in the rearview mirror.

“We’re taking you to a boat bound for the island,” said Zhang, “Once we’re there, you’ll start your training.”

“Nice to, uh… meet you, I guess,” said Shinza. She still didn’t know how they could possibly have her, a non-bender, confused for the Avatar. But she had a feeling Zhang and Mai didn’t know, either. For how quickly the trip to her parents’ place seemed to go by, the journey to the port seemed to take an eternity.

“You want some music?” asked Mai, her hand hovering over the radio dial in the dash.

“No,” Shinza replied. “Thanks.”

After what seemed like an eternity in a car with two strangers, the coast finally crept in from the horizon. The air smelled salty as they pulled into a lot that housed the Satos of people boarding the boats that lined the docks. Mai and Zhang came around to collect Shinza, who had already slid out from the back seat.

“I know it’s annoying,” said Mai as she and Zhang took their positions on either side of her. “But surely you’ve heard of everything happening with The Org. We can’t risk anything happening to you. Especially now, when you’re not trained yet.”

The three of them made their way to a dock, at which a sizable travel vessel with the Fire Nation flag waving proudly from its mast sat waiting for them to board. Ahead of them, several families, single adults, and a few unaccompanied children queued along the wooden ramp, each with their tickets ready. She and her escorts didn’t have tickets; the scroll with the Fire Lord’s seal was more than enough to grant them passage.

Shinza had heard of The Org, and had seen the flyers that littered the streets after their periodic demonstrations. She’d even heard whispers that what went on inside the group was much more dangerous than what most people knew about. But the truth was that she’d never concerned herself with the Avatar or whatever The Org had against them. What business was it of hers? Apparently, now, it was very much her business. As Mai flashed the scroll at the person permitting entry, Shinza wished she’d bothered to give a damn when she’d had the chance.

With one last look behind her at the view of Republic City, Shinza boarded the boat, feeling that somehow this marked the end of her life as she had always known it.

[angelichl]

16, larry. thank youuuuuu

16 - Teasing kisses on every bit of visible skinprompt list

It was hard for Harry to tell if something was wrong or if Louis was just in a mood to be quiet.

The way he expressed himself in each situation was the same: he would pull back from the conversation, find some quiet corner of the room, and try to fade into the background. It might work with most people, but it would never work with Harry—he was always paying Louis attention.

Most of the time, it was nothing. Louis could be shy at times, around larger groups of people, though most regarded him as a louder, more exuberant person. Harry knew the truth. How could he not, after all the time they’ve spent together? Louis was generally calm and peaceful, but he could be downright quiet on certain occasions.

Like tonight. They were at Niall’s place for dinner and beer, later to watch the game. Kind of. There were about a dozen people total so it wasn’t too crowded, but it definitely made it harder for Harry to get some alone time with his boyfriend. He kept trying to cross the living room to sit with him at the fireplace as he smoked, but every time he made an attempt to move in that direction someone would intercept him and start a new conversation.

After five minutes of Harry giving advice to one of Niall’s friends about purchasing a guitar, mostly distracted by Louis, alone, staring down at his hands, Harry excused himself as politely as possible and nearly ran across the room to get to him.

“Hey, everything alright?” He couldn’t help but ruffle Louis’ hair teasingly before sitting down, if only to make him smile. It worked, but only for a second. Louis was wearing a comfy tracksuit tonight and he looks so hot Harry can hardly stand it. Sometimes he questioned how he even managed to land a person like Louis, someone so angelic he’s otherworldly.

“Yeah,” he responded, unconvincingly, then taking a drag from his cigarette.

Harry had hated the smell of smoke before he knew Louis. Now, he finds comfort in it, the way the scent clings to him and his clothes. When they’re apart, Harry will sometimes borrow something of Louis’ just to have the familiar fragrance of Louis’ laundry detergent and the faint smell of tobacco.

“You sure about that?”

Louis laughed a little, bumping their knees together. “Mhm.”

Eyeing him skeptically, Harry watched him stub out his cigarette and place it in the ceramic dish beside the fireplace. The party continued around them, almost as if they had never left, and it felt like they were in their own little bubble, tucked away on the outskirts of the room, safe and warm by the fire.

Harry reached forward and took one of Louis’ hands in his own, internally marvelling at the delicacy of Louis’ fingers, the smallness of his palm. This was the type of thing that made his heart flip in his chest, looking down at his hand encompassing his boyfriend’s and thinking mine, he’s mine.

He brought it up to his mouth to pressed a soft kiss to the skin, finding it pleasurable and doing it again, and again.

Louis rolled his eyes but doesn’t pull away, just let Harry kiss reverently all over the back of his hand, then the palm, and his fingers too.

“I’m fine, just a little tired I guess,” Louis elaborated as Harry continued kissing all over his hand and then grabbing the other one to do the same. He sounded honest, and Harry believed him.

“You wanna go home?”

“Nah, it’s alright.” He shivered when Harry started sucking a hickey on the inside of his wrist, laughing when it tickled.

“We totally could,” he argued, detaching his lips from the soft skin of Louis’ wrist just enough to be able to speak. A smile was overtaking his face at the sight of Louis before him, relaxed and maybe even happy, the firelight making him glow. “Just slip out, go home, cuddle in bed. Maybe make out for a little bit. They’d be fine without us, you know.”

Louis just laughed and shook his head, even though Harry was being entirely serious. He would drop everything for Louis if he had to, would cross the entire world for him, would do anything for him. Leaving a party early to cuddle with him in bed and maybe cheer him up using other techniques really wasn’t a hardship at all. In fact, it was something Harry wanted to do.

“Why’re you acting sad, then?”

“Not sad. Just tired. Had a rough week, you know that.”

True, Harry did know that. Every day this week, Louis had been returning home feeling frustrated and overworked. Harry was busy as well, but he did have time to indulge his boyfriend with a back massage that turned into a heated makeout session followed by passionate sex on the couch in the living room of their apartment. The release from all the tension in their lives had been something they both needed.

“It’s all good, Harry, seriously. Go back to talking to people. I know Shawn is really interested in your acoustic guitar preferences.”

“Oh, shut up,” he joked, squeezing Louis’ hands. “What if I just wanna sit here with my boyfriend?”

Louis laughed and shook his head, turning to look into the fire again, the flames dancing. He looked beautiful like this, the glow of the fire on his face, making the lines of his cheekbones and jawline more dramatic than usual, his long eyelashes so pretty Harry felt entranced. Just looking at him made a deep feeling of love swell up in Harry’s core, inflating like a balloon, expanding so much it felt as if it would crack his chest open and all his love would spill out and encompass them.

Not knowing how to deal with this feeling other than acting on impulse, Harry pulled Louis’ hands back to him, yanking him closer in a gentle way, whispering, “God, I fucking love you,” against his skin. He kissed all over Louis’ fingers and hands again, up his wrists, pressing kisses all over Louis’ forearms, rucking up his sleeves to expose more and more skin—as much as he possibly could.

Louis laughed uncontrollably at Harry’s antics, falling pliant when Harry caged him in and started kissing all over his neck. When he covered every inch of available space, he took his boyfriend’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead, his brows, his eyelids, his cheeks, his jaw, his chin, the tip of his nose too, just to make him squeal and shriek (“You’re ridiculous, Haz!”)  and laugh so hard he nearly cried.

Harry kissed his ears too, just because he could, and then drew a path from ear to jaw, finally to his lips pressing their lips together hard and swallowing Louis’ laughter.

He didn’t care that they were sort of in public, sitting on the bricks of the fireplace in Niall’s place. Most of their friends were used to their displays of affection, anyway. It wasn’t anything new. Niall saw worse on a daily basis. This was tame, innocent. Not the usual bordering-on-lewd kisses they usually engaged in even when around other people. There was a brief point in their relationship where they both felt shy about things like this, but they were far past that now. Harry would do almost anything to be close to Louis and kissing all over his skin at a party was included in that statement of dedication and desire.

Eventually Louis sighed into the kiss and turned it more languid, slowing it down. He partly climbed into Harry’s lap, burying his face in his neck when they detached their lips to breathe.

In a tone of voice that conveyed his suspicion, Louis asked, “Do you wanna go home?”

“Maaaybe…”

“God, I love you. Let’s get out of here.”

They said goodbye to everyone and departed quickly, eager to get home. There was a warm bed and an evening full of rom com’s and cuddling ahead of them.

[trixystix]

Fakiru Week 2017 Day 1: Silver

So, for Fakiru week this year, I’m doing a 7-part modern Pride and Prejudice AU I’ve been thinking about for some time now.  :3 I hope you’ll enjoy, and I’m sorry that each of these chapters are late :x

Also, this is all self-indulgent so like.  I’m sorry :x

Ahiru and her sisters weren't born with silver spoons in their mouths.

On the contrary, life with the Featherbottoms was more like giant ice cream scoopers, aprons stained with crepe batter, and a limit to only two free samples per customer because running a parlor was expensive business.

... Ahiru thought it rather silly to limit them to two samples each, since barely anyone ever came in anymore.

Their little ice cream and crepe parlor sat on the eastern end of a dismally failing outdoor mall.  Most stores sat empty.  Other lots housed some random boutiques and the occasional rug store bound to be out of there by the next quarter.  Ahiru swore she saw tumbleweed brush past the glass paneled doors at least once a week.

Her parents, well-meaning and ridiculous as they were, insisted that their big break was coming---that Rue's balletic talent ("her one redeeming quality!" they'd say, much to Ahiru's chagrin) would carry them off into comfort and riches eventually, and persisted with keeping this little shop going as long as possible (if only so they wouldn't lose the apartment).  Not without cutting corners, though: they swapped out fresh strawberries for preserves, removed avocado from all their savory crepes, convinced Ahiru to make smaller scoops per order, and other such minor details that soon coalesced into one giant mess of a business.

"Rue!!" came the shrill sing-song of their mother's squawking, "Let your sisters handle the shop today!  You must keep to your lessons!  I've heard from your instructors that you've been focusing far less lately!"

Rue frowned impatiently, stubbornly pulling her thick hair into a tight bun.  "Ahiru will be left alone here."

"I can handle it!" Ahiru said brightly from her spot in front of the display glass, wiping at the window above the bins of ice cream.  Though her parents saw Rue's dancing as a way out of their struggles, Ahiru knew that her older sister genuinely felt her happiest in her pointe shoes.  "I don't think it's gonna get busy!  And Pique and Lilie are coming in this afternoon, that's what they said!"

Rue gave Ahiru a withering stare.  

Ahiru's expression wilted.  "O-Okay, so they're not coming in.  But still, it'll be okay, won't it?  I know how everything is done!"

"Heavens, no!" Mrs. Featherbottom gasped, utterly scandalized, "The whole place would fall to pieces, and we'd be left with absolutely nothing!  We'll be forced onto the streets: beggars!  Spinsters!"

Ahiru blinked owlishly.  "Spinsters?"

"Spinsters!"

"Oh."  Was Ahiru really that bad with the store upkeep?

Rue turned her nose up, her lips pursing, and to their mother, she might've looked haughty.  But Ahiru caught the subtle slump in Rue's poised shoulders.  "Mother, I'll stay here until Pique or Lilie comes to relieve me.  I'll make up the lessons on my next day off."

"Well, be sure that one of those two comes here soon!  The darlings---they work so hard and have such hefty schedules!  But we must balance our priorities, after all!  And Rue, you cannot have your talents go to waste!"

Rue took her spot at the crepe station while Ahiru sampled the strawberry flavor.  Minutes passed.  No customers, as expected.

So, Ahiru bumped the volume on the speakers and skidded across the tile floor, a mop her guitar and an ice cream scooper as a microphone.  Rue gave her that same, tiny smile, the one that said, "you're so silly, I love you, little sister," and rose to the tips of her non-slip shoes to twirl into a dance behind the counter.

Working wasn't always that bad.

Overcast weather over an outdoor mall always promised slow days.  They simply got used to the lack of customers in the fall.  Crisp, cloudy, and cool, this was the quiet season (or at least, quieter than usual).

These moments were rather nice, despite the fact that their days in this business were numbered if things kept on as they were.

Ahiru tried to appreciate it all for what it was.

Then, on one such gloomy day, the door opened over the lull of humming freezers and retail music.  And Ahiru would've swooned at their new customer if she wasn't distracted by the way Rue shyly glanced away and tucked a loose strand of hair over her ear.

He was lovely, with warm, golden eyes and hair of pearl---the sort of face that would make Pique and Lilie run in screeching.  And his smile was sweet and genuine.  Ahiru's own customer-service grin came quite easy to her in his presence.

Rue didn't even look him in the eye.  Ahiru took note of this.

"Hello!  I didn't know there was an ice cream place here!"

"Hi there!  Um, would you like a free sample, sir?" Ahiru offered, waving from behind the glass and hopping up onto the step stool so she could see him clearly.  He dressed smartly---so different from anyone else in these suburbs.  A nice tweed jacket, a crisp, white button-up ...

He shook his head politely.  "No, but thank you very much for the offer.  It's rather chilly, actually.  Do you happen to serve coffee?"

"Yes, of course!"

"I'd like one please.  Oh!"  He spotted the menu on the back wall.  "And crepes!  I love crepes!"

Rue shifted, keeping her expression hidden.  Ahiru's smile grew mischievous.  "Aaaah, of course!  Go ahead and order with Rue over there!  She makes really, really good ones!  I'll get your coffee!"

"Thank you so much."

Forced to greet him now, Rue kept her expression carefully controlled, an even, pleasant smile for a customer.  But Ahiru, ever-so-attentive to her older sister's habits, caught the way she gripped her apron.

The man's eyes widened, and he paused in his step, his lips parting in awe at the sight of Rue.

Ahiru giddily went about making a fresh brew, biting her lip and trying not to listen in as Rue and this new gentleman made pleasantries.

"Do you have any recommendations, Miss Rue?"

"Would you like something savory, perhaps lunch, sir?  Or something sweet?"

"... I'd very much like something sweet."

"Hm.  Then may I suggest the strawberries and nutella?"

"That sounds delightful."

Okay, maybe Ahiru was reading way too much into it.  But ... this was super cute.  

As the young man intentionally carried on conversation while Rue set to making his crepe, the door swung open once more, causing Ahiru to almost spill the contents of the paper cup in her hands.

"Dammit, Autor, the numbers aren't adding up!  We pay you for a reason, don't we?!"

The deep, frustrated timbre drowned out the sweet discussion occurring on the other side of the parlor.  He spat the words into his phone, his free hand shoved deep into the pocket of his slacks.  His blazer and shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a tie undone and hanging loose from his collar.  With sharp, green eyes and rich, dark skin, Ahiru would've found him stupidly attractive.

You know.  If not for the way his lips curled into a snarl and how he barked into his phone like it was the nastiest thing in the world.  Ahiru didn't bother to hide her frown.

"Well, fix it!"  He glanced up from his phone only to look in the other man's direction.

The sweet, good, much-nicer-and-altogether-better person gave him a sheepish smile and a shrug.

He rolled his eyes.  "Look, Autor, I'll call you back, and when I do, you've better have ironed out everything we just discussed."  He pulled his phone from his ear and tapped it with an impatient thumb.  "Mytho, what are you---"

"They have crepes, Fakir!  I haven't had a crepe in so long!"

"Are you seriously---"

"They have coffee, too."

"Fakir" frowned, noticing the way "Mytho" leaned in and smiled with gentle affection toward the woman making his crepe.  Without passing Ahiru a single glance, he scoffed and sat at the table next to the window.  "Coffee, then.  Black.  Fresh-brewed.  I don't want leftovers."

Ahiru's jaw dropped.  Well.  Well.  WELL!

As Fakir tapped and scrolled angrily at his phone, Mytho cleared his throat and leaned toward Rue again.  "I'm so sorry.  He's not usually like this.  He's just having a rather stressful day."

"So I see," Rue muttered in reply, spreading nutella along the crepe's surface.

Meanwhile, Ahiru grit her teeth.  Fine.  Fine.  Fresh-brewed, just for Mr. Cranky-Pants.  He would have the best coffee in the world.  It would be the most delicious, most delectable, best shot of caffeine he'd ever have in his life, and probably go on to keep being a jerk and how in the world were these two people even acquainted?

She passed Mytho his coffee first with a smile---which he returned with a quiet thanks and an apology.  Then, she placed the other coffee---THE BEST COFFEE EVER---onto the counter.

"Your coffee's ready."

He kept on tapping at his phone.

"Um.  Sir?"

He scowled and scrolled.

"Siiiir?"

Still nothing.

"AHEM."

When he refused to acknowledge even that, she grabbed the best coffee ever and stomped around the counter toward his table.  She pointedly placed it down right in between his face and that poor, abused phone screen.  "Your coffee's ready, sir!  Black, freshly brewed, super delicious, and the best ever!  Sugar and cream are at the counter!"

He scowled and finally looked up at her.  "Hey, watch it---"

Her lips pursed as he paused.  His brow unfurrowed just slightly, the tenseness in his jaw loosening.

Her cheeks heated and she gulped.

Then, she shook her head and stalked off back around the counter with a huff.  Okay, so he had a staring problem, too.  She'd had some lousy customers before, but this guy really took the cake!

"Miss Ahiru," Mytho said, walking toward the register with coffee in one hand and crepe box in the other, a skip in his step and a twinkle in his eye.  "Rue tells me you've been in business here for many years.  How do you like it?  How's the area?  Thinking of renting one of these empty stores."

Ahiru prepared to reply with enthusiasm, but that Fakir butted in.  "You've seen it already, Mytho.  This place is dead.  Numbers are dropping constantly."

"Ahem!"  Ahiru rang him up with perky jubilance, her grin wide.  "I like it here!  It's nice and quiet and we get to meet nice people who walk their dogs, and we have a Halloween store that shows up every year and a tree-lighting ceremony during holidays!  So, with a little imagination, it's a great place!  Numbers aren’t everything!”

She dared to look around Mytho to throw a triumphant grin in that Fakir's direction.

... She was mildly surprised to see that he wasn't scowling.

"Well, that's good to hear!"  Mytho paid without further incident, before stepping toward the crepe station.  "Miss Rue ... thank you for your time.  I'll ... I'd like to try other crepes again soon!"

She smiled a little, polite and even.  "We look forward to it."

As he took his leave, Ahiru called out to Fakir, her grin super-duper wide.  "And yours is 2.50 plus tax!"

He stood and approached the register.

Hoo boy.

Okay, he was tall.

She readied herself for some kind of mean spirited comment or grumpy complaint, but all he did was hand her a ten before following Mytho out the door.

The sisters were left in silence.

Until Ahiru spoke, shaking off that weird warmth that filled her cheeks under that Fakir's piercing gaze.  "Ugh.  If he ever comes in again, I'm gonna kick his butt."

"Please do.  Looks like he left you a big tip, though," Rue countered.

"I don't want his dumb tip!  Did you see the way he spoke to Mytho?  And, and, and me, and the person on the phone!  Hmph, I wish that stupid silver spoon in his mouth stopped him from talking!"

"How could anyone like Mytho be in business with someone like that?"

At this, Ahiru felt her mood lighten.

"... Mytho was really nice, huh, Rue?"

"... Oh, stop it."

Mytho nibbled delightedly at his crepe, but sighed as he glanced up and down the pathetic halls of the outdoor mall.  "... You're right, though.  This area ... isn't all that promising when you look at it now.  Other than that delightful ice cream place."

Fakir rolled his eyes.

But numbers aren't everything.

Tumbleweed brushed against the toe of his polished shoe and he kicked at it.

And after another moment, he looked up, fighting the urge to follow his friend's gaze back to the parlor a small distance away.  With a little imagination ...

"... No.  There's potential here.  I see it."

[mylittlejoanie]

Cherry Blossoms [VIII, final] - a chanyeol story

I can’t believe Cherry Blossoms is finally over! It’s definitely a bittersweet feeling. Thank you all for reading this series, it’s meant so much to me!

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

Plot: Life moves on, whether you’re ready for it or not.

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Reader

I strolled slowly through the park, my puppy on a leash in front of me. Seoul was always beautiful in the spring time, especially this year. I smiled as I took in the sight of the cherry blossoms. I was surrounded by pink and the sweet scent of the blossoms, and I noticed how the sun shining through the trees made everything glow an ethereal shade, as if I were inside a cloud of flowers.

It almost felt as if I were in a fairy tale; in a way, maybe I was.

Not a traditional fairy tale, with Prince Charming riding in to save me on a white horse. No, this was a... different kind of love story.

I’m alone, and I’m happy. 

For the first time in years, I can say that without it being a lie. 

It all began with walking away from Chanyeol on the beach six months ago. I walked away from him and vowed to only move forward from then on. I didn’t want to run anymore. I faced reality, and I faced the consequences of loving him.

Jin took it well; he even said I could keep the apartment, but I couldn’t stay. I had to let go of everything I had that tied me to someone else. I later heard from friends in Busan that he had started dating again, and I meant it when I said I was happy for him.

The first few months were the worst. Sometimes the hurt I felt was too strong, too suffocating. Some nights I would wake up gasping for air. Sometimes I missed Chanyeol so much that I thought the holes in my heart would be open, rotting wounds forever. I can’t count how many nights I spent screaming, crying, wishing I could go back to that day on the beach and make a different choice. Healing, becoming whole, wasn’t easy. But day by day, I moved on. Every cup of tea and every walk in the park soothed my pain to a dull ache that I could ignore.

I moved back to the city I loved. I adopted a puppy from the shelter, a small dog with floppy ears. A beagle that reminded me a little too much of someone I loved. I found an apartment that was small, probably too tiny for my new puppy, my cat and myself, but we made it our home. I loved my daily commute to my new job; I loved my walks through the park with my puppy. Coming home from work and watching movies with my pets was the highlight of my day. 

One day, I realized that I had gone an entire hour without thinking about Chanyeol. This hour stretched into five, then twelve, then an entire day. I was finally at peace.

My mind was now drifting through the events of the last few months. I absentmindedly moved my hand to my ring finger to fiddle with my engagement ring; after six months, I still constantly forgot that it wasn't there. 

I had fought for so many years to be independent, to be able to stand on my own two feet and be truly happy. Not okay, not fine, but happy. Nothing was perfect, but things were better than they had been in years. I went through every day being my genuine self. I didn't hide my feelings, or force myself to feel something that wasn’t there. I didn't force myself to take up a hobby to prove that I could function. I no longer relied on other people to make me feel complete. I was perfectly comfortable in my own skin, alone, and that was a sensation I had never felt before.

A kick deep in my belly reminded me that I wasn't alone, not really. 

I smiled warmly at my stomach as I rested my hand upon the small bump. I hated myself for keeping this secret from him for so long, but when we last parted, I had known it was for good. I had tried turning back time once before; I couldn't do it twice. I had finally become the person I had always wanted to be, and I know I had only done that because I had taken the time to love myself. I couldn’t have done that if I hadn’t left.

Besides, what if he didn’t want me back? What if me and my child were nothing but a burden to him? Nothing would ever change the fact that he’s famous, he’s a star. Being a father would only hold him back. What if I ruined the rest of his career, his dreams?

I shook off my sadness and picked up my pace. I had no time to be upset right now. My life was about moving forward, not backwards. I had spent so many years looking back, wondering what I could have done differently. For the sake of my child, and for myself, I had to keep going. I had to try. Nothing could get better unless I started over. I had to begin again.

I firmly pulled my dog away from a nearby bush and looked ahead, trying to find the mailbox that sat on the corner of the street. I slipped the plump white envelope out of my purse and stared at the address, checking and double checking that I had it correct. I closed my eyes and tossed it into the mailbox, hoping that this would work. 

This has to work. 

Chanyeol

I am absolutely exhausted. I have never been so tired in my entire life. The last six months have been an absolute whirlwind, and I'm still getting used to what my life is now. 

The only thing that hasn’t changed is that I wish she hadn't walked away. God, why did she have to walk away? My feelings hadn't changed in the last six months. How could they? She was still in every part of me, and probably always would be. I knew that I would never be able to erase her, or that day at the beach. But life has a way of moving on, whether you're ready for it or not. 

I swung my legs out of bed and stretched upwards, letting out a loud yawn as I did. I have a few days of leave this week, and I’m bored. So tired, so bored. I had been working nonstop at my post, and it exhausted me in a way that music never had. All I really wanted to do right now was play my guitar. My day was wide open, and I figured I would head back to Seoul for the day. I could pick up my guitar, see if any of the guys were up for a jam session.

I got dressed in the most comfortable clothes I could find and headed to the train station. The last time I had been on a train, I was headed away from Seoul, not knowing what awaited me in Busan. The parallel was not lost on me, and I had to breathe deeply before I got lost in memories of the past. 

She had tried so hard for so long to move on, and I owed her that. I let her go, and I finally regained a bit of myself in the process. I couldn’t remember the last time I had written a sad song for her to hear, either. I didn’t have the time to dwell on sadness.

It was a short ride to Seoul, and I hopped out of the train eagerly. I hadn't realized how badly I had missed home. Home, my brothers, the room I shared with Minseok, Kyungsoo's cooking. Carefree days spent playing video games until it was time to head to dance practice; nights spent laughing over bottles of soju. Every single birthday, every single holiday. I had spent so many years thinking that I had nothing without her, not realizing that I had everything in front of me. 

Even if all nine of us weren’t together now, we'd always be together in spirit. Nothing could possibly change that.

I headed into the dorm easily; fans weren't camped out and neither were photographers. The entire building was deserted aside from the doorman sitting at his station. "Mr. Park!" he shouted at me happily with a salute and came around from his station to greet me. "It's been so long since I've seen you around here. And actually... you have a letter." He handed me a lumpy envelope, and I stared at it in confusion. 

I opened it as I walked upstairs to my room. I tore the envelope open harshly, thinking it was just junk mail. There was no name above the return address, so it couldn’t have been anything important. I opened the door, shouting my friends’ names as I went. My shouts were met with silence; no one was home.

My heart sank in my chest and I stopped breathing when I realized what the contents of the envelope were.

Pictures. So many pictures. Pictures of her, smiling, laughing, dancing. Pictures of us with friends in school, pictures from her 16th birthday, from Christmas. Tears flowed down my face and I couldn’t help but smile as I looked through our memories captured in time. I sat on the floor, the photos scattered on the ground around me. Why would she send me these? I thought she had already made her choice. She chose him, not me. Maybe that’s why she sent the photos back; she didn’t need our memories anymore.

A small, handwritten note written on a scrap of paper slipped out of the torn up envelope. The handwriting was perfectly neat, and I didn’t need her signature to know that it was her script. The note was short, and only said a few words.

“Can we begin again?”

I threw the note to the ground and laughed, and it echoed through the empty dorm. Of course, I should have known. She had always believed in the power of photos. Every time I tried to push the camera away from her, she refused.

“Chanyeol, don’t you see? Pictures are like our memories, frozen in time forever! So if we ever forget these moments or what we felt, all we have to do is look at our photos. It’s like starting over!” I remembered how she had giggled and wrapped her arms around my neck, kissing me as if she never wanted to let go. 

Neither of us had ever wanted to let go.

Starting over. I was dizzy, and I could barely process the thoughts running from my mind. I scanned the return address, and noticed it was the park we had always gone to as teenagers. That was just down the street from our dorm.

She had spent so much time running, running away from her feelings and running away from the past. Now I was the one trying to catch her.

Reader

I sat on the bench, our bench, and waited. Maybe I was crazy for assuming he’d run as soon as he got the letter. I had heard through some fansite that he was taking leave, but what if I had the dates wrong? I felt myself losing control of my sanity, and I hopped off the bench and started quietly pacing.

I heard a voice in the distance behind me. That same soft, deep voice that had haunted my dreams so long ago. He was singing a song, and I knew the song was meant only for me; it always had been.

No matter what happens, I’m going to be okay. I’m strong now. I whispered gently to my bump. We’re going to be strong, okay baby?

I heard a voice call my name, and I turned around.

Chanyeol

I saw a figure in the distance, and it was her. I blinked rapidly, wondering if she had walked straight out of my dreams.

She glowed in a way I had never seen before, and when she turned around, I knew why. Her hands were on her stomach, and tears were in her eyes. Her hair was flowing in the breeze as it always had this time of year, the time of year that made the world radiate light.

I walked towards her, memories of sand and sun and skin and soju flowing through my mind. I knew in this moment that I would never leave her, I would never leave either of them. I would do anything in this universe to make them both happy, I would work until my back breaks so they can always be cared for. I would die for them. Does she have any idea how much I love her? How much she means to me, and how much this new life already means to me? I knew I would spend the rest of my life showing her. I didn’t care about a scandal, all I cared about was her. 

It took us so long to get here, so many years of hurt and pain and fucking things up, but we were here. Life has a funny way of coming full circle, and it didn’t escape me that we had found each other again, surrounded by cherry blossoms.

I’ll never leave them again.

End

[totallyrhettro]

Adrift, chapter 9 (final)

Word Count: 2289 Rating: This chapter: PG; Overall story rating: Explicit Warnings: Kissing Summary: After almost drowning in the Cape Fear River as a young man, Rhett can’t seem to get over his fear of swimming. Link is a swim instructor who offers to help. Notes: AU. Rhett and Link have never met and are in their late 20s. Based on the events described in GMCL 24, but Rhett was there alone.

Chapter 1 Previous Chapter

“Are you doing okay?” Link asked, taking Rhett’s hand in his own. The taller man felt dorky in his board shorts, stripe tee and a orange life jacket. Still he felt a great deal better having it on, considering what he was planning to do.

It had been several years since the two of them had met, since Rhett had first seen Link teaching swimming classes at the gym. It seemed like ages ago. It seemed like yesterday. Rhett had managed so much in the past years, with Link by his side. He gave him the courage to face his fears and the strength to overcome them. Even better than helping Rhett with his nightmares, which he hadn’t had for months, Link lightened up his life, filling every day with sunshine, every night with passion. In so many ways Rhett’s life had been made better by having Link be part of it. For that he was eternally grateful.

“I’m fine,” he assured his boyfriend, squeezing his hand. “It's not my first dive. Just show me to the boat.” Boat didn’t quite do it justice. Turning a corner on the maze of docks, Link led Rhett to one of the many boats tied up at the marina. At twenty-five feet, it was a fairly impressive craft with neat letters painted on the back forming the words: ‘Sail On’. Rhett always appreciated the Lionel Richie reference.

It had a pilothouse, so the pilot could be high and dry, and there was a full galley below deck. It was a bit short for Rhett, but he was used to it and besides he planned on sitting a lot. Hopping onto the edge of the boat, Link climbed aboard before holding out his hand to help his boyfriend. At first Rhett wanted to ignore the offered hand and use his long legs to get onto the boat with ease, but the smile on Link’s face was too much to brush off. He took the hand, trying not to blush, and let his boyfriend pull him onto the boat.

“Permission to come aboard, captain?” he joked.

“Permission granted, sir,” Link said with an exaggerated salute, and a cheerful grin. “Welcome aboard.” Pulling Rhett closer he stood on his tiptoes to give him a quick peck. “Did you ever think, before we met, you’d ever be able to step onto a boat floating on the ocean?”

“Definitely not.” He didn’t quite have his sea legs yet and he walked over to sit on the bench situated at the stern. “I’ve been doing a lot of things I never imagined, lately.” Link sat beside him and put his arm around his waist to pull him closer.

They sat there for sometime, not saying anything, just thinking about the past years, ago the past evening. How to brave great watery depths wasn’t the only thing Link had been teaching him. Holding Rhett close he placed a sweet kiss on the man’s lips, relishing in his taste, his smell. Rhett kissed him back with just as much vigor, just as much love, and for a time they both forgot why they had boarded their ship in the first place. Eventually Link broke away, with some effort, and got to his feet. It was time to go.

“Shall we then?” As he walked about the boat, untying the vessel from the dock, Rhett watched him very closely. The ocean breeze was blowing through his dark hair, the warm sun revealing the brown that normally looked black in dimmer lights. The muscles of his arms flexed as he worked on the thick ropes tying the boat to shore and he chewed his lip in concentration as his lover checked on numerous instruments.

As they set out on the open ocean, Link moved with untold grace and certainty; this was a man who had been boating for a long time, who knew his ship inside and out. This was a man who tamed the sea and didn't let the water tame him.

They cruised for a while, shooting the breeze. Rhett managed to stumble his way to Link’s side, sitting in the pilot seat while they talked. It wasn't so bad, being around so much water, as long as his love was in easy grabbing distance. Link did his best to keep their course smooth and it wasn't long before they reached their destination.

A hide-away beach, probably privately owned by someone neither of them knew, was a secret spot was far out of view of the public. Link slowed the boat to a stop before turning to Rhett.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Rhett wondered. It was a lovely spot, very isolated and serine. Link gave a noncommittal head tilt.

“Partially. Come on; let’s go for a swim.” It hadn’t been the first time Rhett had braved the waters of the great deep ocean, but he still could not help but feel a twinge of nervousness every time he found himself poised to venture in once again. As he opened the seat in the back of the boat, that doubled as storage, and began looking for their snorkels and flippers, he happened to glance over at Link taking off his shorts. Like Rhett, he had worn his speedos on under his other clothes and now he was bending over to reveal them. Bending over and pointing his perfectly round butt right towards Rhett.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” Rhett accused with a chuckle. Link didn’t answer but wiggled his adorable behind as he squirmed out of his shorts. Rhett shook his head as he removed his own non-swimming attire. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“I can’t wait,” Link giggled, slipping on his flippers. Grabbing up one of the sets of snorkeling goggles, he leaned backwards over the boat and flopped into the crystal clear waters with a lovely splash. Rhett wasn’t in a hurry to follow but he knew he would. He would follow that man anywhere.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were swimming effortlessly through the shallows. Since his first venture into the salty depths, Rhett had shown himself to be a very strong swimmer. Working out at the gym once a week helped quite a bit. Link had taken him places he never thought possible, places that made overcoming his fears worth it. Today they were in a simple cove, not a lot of coral or fish. These were Rhett’s favorites, actually. Little to hurt himself on, not far from surface to sandy floor, and a clear view as far as his eyes could see. Perfect.

He treasured moments like this. During these past few years he and Link had become very successful in their respective fields of engineering. More than making them enough money to purchase a sea-faring vessel, it kept them rather busy. Vacations were rare these days. These times when they were able to get away, be with just each other and no one else, these were the more precious. Not long ago Rhett had moved into Link’s place. They told each other it was for convenience, but they both knew it was more. Rhett wanted to spend every waking moment, every moment he wasn’t awake as well, with the man he loved.

Rhett took off his snorkel mask, floating on his back. He thought about their busy lives, as he had many times before. He had gotten everything he wanted, everything he thought he wanted, and more. He had a good job, a nice house, and a wonderful boyfriend. Yet he missed the days when he was living paycheck to paycheck because he had his music. He had time for his music. He missed playing the guitar. If only there was a way to be a musician instead of an engineer. What would his life be like then?

“Getting tired?” Link’s voice drifted through the air like a gentle breeze as he slowly floated by. He bumped his hand against Rhett’s and the taller man turned to smile at his love.

“Just thinking.” Looking back up at the sky, he look Link’s hand in his own. “Wondering what my life would be like if I went off and became a musician.”

“You are a musician. I’ve heard you play.”

“You know what I mean. Like, for a living. Instead of an engineer.”

“Would you be happier?” A fair question. One Rhett wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. He squeezed Link’s hand.

“I am happy,” he promised. “Did I sound like I wasn’t happy?” For a moment they were quiet, just floating there, holding hands like otters, watching the gentle clouds drift by, listening to the water slosh around them and the occasional seagull flying above.

“I wanted to make films,” Link confessed after the longest time. “I came to California to write comedy films, but it’s a tough industry. I had to fall back on my engineering major. It worked out okay, but I always regret not trying harder.”

“It’s not too late. You can still be a film writer.”

“And you can still be a musician,” Link countered. “Anyone can these days. There’s this online thing called YouTube...”

~

The two men swam for a bit longer before heading back to the boat. Rhett was the first one aboard, pulling himself up easily. He quickly turned to help Link up, but he was pushing himself backwards.

“I’m just gonna take one last dive,” he said, pulling his snorkeling mask back on. “Be right back.” With a wink he ducked down under the waves and disappeared. Rhett gave a very understanding smile, chuckling under a sigh as he took off his flippers. He knew Link would be along in his own time. Meanwhile he changed back into his dry clothes.

When Link returned he burst from the waters, grasping onto the side of the boat and splashing water all about. He tossed his goggles onto the deck and wiped the wet hair from his face

“You're like Poseidon,” Rhett noted once he got over his surprise. Link laughed as he pulled himself up.

“Look who's talking. Put a trident in your hand and you’d be a spitting image of the god of the ocean.” Sitting on the gunwale of the ship, he placed a small orange box on the seat next to him.

“What’s that?” Rhett didn’t wait for an answer before picking it up and turning it over. It said ‘ultrabox’ on the side, but little else. It looked almost brand new. “Did you find this down there?”

“I did.” Link looked rather suave but at the same time there was a hint of something else in his eyes. Rhett had seen it so rarely in his lover’s eyes he almost didn’t recognize it. After a moment he was sure; Link was nervous. “Why don’t you open it?” Cocking an eyebrow Rhett shrugged and looked to see how the strange box opened. He didn’t notice, as he found the latch, that Link had moved from his spot on the ledge. As he flipped open the lid, revealing a smaller box inside, he didn’t see how Link had bent down on one knee and was now kneeling before him.

“What’s this?” he asked, curious and confused. “What-?” Looking up he saw Link, his eyes far too blue to be real, his smile far too beautiful for anything less than an angel. “Link?” Rhett voice barely made it out to ask. “...Link?”

“Open it,” Link whispered, hopeful and scared. As Rhett’s eyes turned down to the second box, black and velvet, Link bit his lip. Time was slowing down to a near standstill and he could barely breathe. Rhett was holding his breath too as he picked up the black box. His fingers felt so weak as they lifted the lid revealing the band inside.

“Link.” A simple band, titanium inlaid with one large strip of Hawaiian Koa wood and a smaller one of pure turquoise. “It’s beautiful.” More than it’s gorgeous colors, and the thought that had gone into picking it out, what it symbolized was beautiful. “You found this?” He was highly doubtful.

“I did… It was right where I left it.” Taking Rhett’s shaking hand in his own Link took a deep breath. “Rhett… You’ve set my entire life on it’s head, from the day I saved your life to the day I saw you in that gym. You changed my life for the better- you make me better, every day, every moment. I don’t deserve you, but still here I am. Asking...” Tears formed in Rhett’s eyes and he could barely blink them away.

“You saved my life, Link,” he choked, remembering. “I don’t want to spend it with anyone else.”

“Does that mean you’ll-?”

“Yes!” Rhett shouted, nearly dropping the ring as he rushed to hug Link. “I’ll marry you.” Tears fell from both of their eyes now, the sweetest tears of joy. After a minute of hugging and crying and sputtering happy nonsense, Rhett pulled away. “What am I going to tell my parents?”

“I already told them.”

“You what?” Link rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“They sort of found out by accident,” Link explained. “Last time I went back home with you. You’re brother caught me rummaging through your stuff, looking for a class ring.” He gestured to the ring still in Rhett’s hand. “I wanted to make sure I got the right size.” Flustered, Rhett slipped the ring onto his finger, staring at it like he still couldn’t believe his life.

“It’s perfect.” He kissed Link’s cheek. “Just like you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Rhett,” Link replied, kissing back. “Always and forever.”

The End

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